


Exhale

by elleisforlovee



Series: (None Of It Will Be) Worth It [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya has feelings and emotions and they're complicated, F/M, Gen, Gendrya - Freeform, I'm just going to re-write all of D&Ds wrongs, Slow Burn, a lesson in privilege, basically this is me dealing with my anger at that GD finale, in which Arya is an actual human instead of a robot, it's a shit job but someone's got to do it, lovers to friends to lovers...is that a thing?, lowkey mental breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-03-06 04:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 76,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18843727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleisforlovee/pseuds/elleisforlovee
Summary: The Battle at King's Landing is over and a new ruler sits on the Iron Throne. Despite leaving their relationship on uncertain terms, Gendry attempts to reunite with Arya. Together the two will work to make sense of the new world they live in and to hopefully heal some old wounds along the way.





	1. The Plan

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third part of a series - everyone was so incredibly supportive of my last two works (THANK YOU!) so I had to continue. Originally I made reading the previous parts optional but after writing this chapter I decided it really is best to read the others ( “Maybe” and “Trial by Fire”) first. 
> 
> A few things to note:  
> 1\. I’m intentionally leaving some plot points vague. If they don’t involve Arya and Gendry directly, I’m not paying them much attention. One, I’m open to seeing how the series ends. Two, it really shouldn’t matter who’s King or Queen. These two are going to make it work either way...eventually. At least in this story (and hopefully in canon too!)  
> 2\. As you’ll see in the first two parts of this series, I did keep many things from the show as canon with the exception being Gendry’s proposal. *Gendry has not proposed to Arya in my story.*

“She’s not taking any visitors.”

 

The statement rang like a deafening bell in Gendry’s ears; an echo with a numbing effect. He blinked, unsure of the accuracy in his perception. He’d spent nearly two fortnights on the King’s Road and it was not the answer he’d expected to hear when he arrived to Dragonstone and inquired about Arya. It was especially difficult to understand when put into the context of his own travels: if he understood correctly it had been three weeks since the Battle at King’s Landing and Arya still had yet to leave her chambers.

 

Ser Davos did not waiver, offering no other explanation as he sized the newly administered Lord up one last time before heading further into camp, knowing the boy would follow. Gendry was predictable at best, and although Ser Davos had often credited him for being quite clever, his involvement with Arya was rather simple-minded. Though, Davos rationalized, most matters of the heart were.

 

“I don’t...has anyone tried?” Gendry managed.

 

Davos turned, giving him a narrowed gaze that almost seemed stern. “Are you asking me if anyone has tried to get Princess Arya from her room? Yes, of course they have.”

 

Gendry blinked. “Princess?”

 

“Aye. Things are changing around here...have changed. It’s time you catch up.”

 

“Lord—”

 

“You mean the King? Only emerged from his own chambers last week. We sent a raven to Winterfell going over all of this, though I suppose you missed it if you were traveling here.”

 

“You did write me.”

 

“And I didn’t expect you to move so quickly. I just thought you’d want to know. I know you care for the lass so I figured—”

 

“You figured right,” Gendry assured, now with eyes that took in the castle before him.

 

Beyond the bridge they stood on, various huts and makeshift encampments were set up upon the perimeter of the intimidating castle. Soldiers, all of them still wounded and tired, moved slowly, most of them sitting around as if still waiting for orders from their Queen. Like ghosts they were, considering she was gone now.

 

Sansa was right; they shouldn’t have ascended upon King’s Landing so soon after their fight with the wights. Now Gendry wondered how they’d ever move past where they were currently. It seemed all of Westeros was perched on this small island, the weight of which already seemed to be sinking back into the earth from centuries of battering waves and winds.

 

An entire lifetime had played itself out in Gendry’s absence and selfishly he was thankful for Jon’s insistence that he stay in Winterfell. If he had accompanied these men he’d be dead now; if he accompanied these men the most recent night he spent with Arya would have been their last.

 

“How can I see her then?”

 

Davos turned to him once more. “You can’t. Not right now. I’ve got enough to take care of without sneaking you into the castle.”

 

“I never said anything about sneaking.”

 

“I know,” Davos called over his shoulder. “I did. It’s not proper for you to be visiting a Princess in her chambers. Even if she had called upon you, it’d be hard for me to do anything without King Jon—”

 

“But you’re a smuggler.”

 

“Actually, I’m currently the Hand of the King.”

 

With wide eyes, Gendry swallowed. “What?”

 

“I know. Now go and make yourself useful.”

 

“Where—”

 

“Where have you ever been useful, Gendry?”

 

“I’m plenty useful!”

 

“Well you’re _particularly_ useful in the smithy.”

 

“No. I want to speak with Jon,” Gendry gave strongly, now with eyes affixed to the top of the castle as if he knew where the newly appointed King existed.

 

“It’s _His Grace_ now.”

 

“Right,” Gendry nodded swiftly. “Of course. I want to speak to His Grace.”

 

“It seems we’re all getting used to our new titles, _Lord Gendry._ ”

 

Gendry scoffed. “Hardly.”

 

Davos sighed. “What do you need to speak to the King about?”

 

“I want to ask him what he needs assistance with. Winterfell was kind to me because of our friendship. I owe it to him to return the favor...if an interruption would be welcomed, of course,” he corrected swiftly.

 

“Of course,” Davos returned flatly. “Why don’t you go wash up and help yourself to something to eat? They’ve got rations and fresh bread just beyond the barbican. If you don’t mind eating with the common folk then I’m sure they’ll be plenty for you.”

 

~!~

 

Gendry eventually made his way to the smithy where a few men had done very little work, concentrating instead on repairing the forge. The space hadn’t been used in many years and the salt in the air had toughened the forgotten tools into uselessness.

 

“Lord Gendry!” one of the men called out, causing Gendry to turn toward the voice and smile, comforted by the mere thought that he’d know someone on the island. When he caught sight of the lad his smile remained. Umfrey, a boy from White Harbor, nearly barreled him down with a hug. A gruff “oof!” escaped Gendry as the teenager let go. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen but he looked far older than Gendry last remembered. Thankfully he appeared to be unharmed.

 

Gendry had never been particularly close with Umfrey and he certainly didn’t find him to be a good smith but the Northerner was motivated. His time spent in the forge at Winterfell was useful if not for the boy’s positive outlook. Looking back on it, the only time Gendry had a distaste for his presence was when the boy made a passing comment about Arya’s smile.

 

“Enough with the titles,” Gendry insisted, now with his hands on his hips. The stance pushed out his already broad chest, establishing the same power he had only just failed to accept. If they hadn’t before, the other men in the smithy were definitely noticing Gendry now. Nearly all of them had stopped to stare at Gendry and watch this apparent Lord’s interaction with the peasant boy.

 

“Did they send for you? We’re a useless lot! And this forge is—”

 

Gendry had already been looking around. “In rough shape. I see that.”

 

“You’re here to help?”

 

Gendry paused for a moment. “Aye,” he lied, though his response felt like a proper one. “This...this might take us days.”

 

“Good thing we have time,” one of the other men muttered, chiming in.

 

Gendry looked to him. “What’s the plan?” he questioned casually.

 

“The plan? With what?”

 

“With everyone. The war’s been won. No one has any reason to fear the King...to not be loyal to him. What do we do now?”

 

With an innocent shrug, another boy answered: “We wait.”

 

They all began to stand around Gendry and for a moment Gendry wondered if this was what lorddom felt like. If the King wasn’t handing down orders, did the task fall onto his shoulders? “What have you been instructed to do?”

 

“Not much, really,” Umfrey explained, clearly upset at the thought as if it had only just occurred to him. “Ser Davos suggested working on some nails but we don’t have enough tools and we can’t make any if we can’t make steel and we can’t start making steel—”

 

“Without tools. Right.” Gendry leaned back, taking stock of the items near the hearth. “You have a hammer. It’s enough.”

 

Umfrey's eyes widened and he looked to the rest of the makeshift crew with hope and, in Gendry’s opinion, the right amount of ignorance. Everyone craved blind faith and the sad crew of blacksmiths was no exception.

 

~!~

 

It was well past nightfall when Gendry found Davos again. Gendry had skipped dinner, taking advantage of the empty smithy to complete his best work. By the time the rest of the men returned, a full set of tools was laid out on the nearby workstation, wet from their recent time in the slack tub but drying quickly due to their proximity to the roaring fire.

 

Gendry rubbed his hands on his makeshift apron - an uneven piece of leather he’d found amongst all the broken armor. It was a task for tomorrow, Gendry concluded. His body ached, both from the ride and sail to town and now his more recent duty of running the forge.

 

“See,” Davos hummed. “Useful.”

 

Gendry rolled his eyes and began to walk with the older man, noticing still how eyes seemed to be on him. He was unsure of the reason: whether it was because he was with the Hand of the King or because he was a new face. Everyone seemed to be exiting Dragonstone lately, most of them off to find a new life or to even perhaps return to their old one. Gendry’s arrival was a rarity, especially now as he followed Davos through the Bailey and toward the Keep. His assumption that Jon was hidden away from everyone in the highest tower seemed to be a correct one.

 

“The King may be short with you. If he wants to see you at all,” Davos explained as the pair began ascending the twisting stone staircase.

 

Even inside the air smelled of salt but it was warmer here, perhaps falsely so. As they walked by various closed doors Gendry couldn’t help but to wonder if Arya existed behind any of them. He imagined Jon wouldn’t have allowed her to be too far from him. He knew the affection the King had for his youngest sister, the fact of which made his current journey up the steps far more treacherous than his ride from Winterfell.

 

“You didn’t tell him I was coming?”

 

“No, I did. I told him you requested his attention and he actually sounded relieved to hear you were here. Then, as he often has, he nodded and moved on. Lord Tyrion has been—”

 

“We’re still trusting him?”

 

“We have no reason not to. He’s loyal to Sansa, you know. He’d never do anything to betray that friendship. Helping the King only makes sense. You’ll be comforted to know that Tyrion cares about the people almost as much as His Grace does.”

 

“Not possible.”

 

“After what Jon’s seen…” They were standing outside a closed door, the only one in this particular hallway. Four knights stood on guard, and Gendry was so stunned by all the information Davos was stowing upon him that he nearly missed their appearance.

 

Davos sighed. “Just be smart. If His Grace wants you gone you bow and exit.”

 

Gendry did not move to nod or give any gesture to show his compliance. Only when Davos pushed open the door did he move, shuffling behind him to enter the room. A large table stood in the center of the circular room, that of which was flanked by several arched windows, none of them covered with glass or shutters, causing quite a draft. Actually, it seemed as if there was more window than wall as Gendry could look past where King Jon and Lord Tyrion sat to the angry ocean far beyond. The men looked to the door. Lord Tyrion stood, nodding toward Gendry in a way that made him uncomfortable.

 

The imp headed for the door but Gendry turned to stop him. “You don’t have to go, mi’lord. I’ll only be a moment.”

 

It often looked as if Lord Tyrion knew a secret but the way he smirked at Gendry had the bastard believing perhaps he knew _his_ secret. “Don’t flatter yourself, Lord Gendry. I simply need to take a piss and this seems like an opportune time.”

 

The door shut behind him, leaving Davos standing furthest from the door, another knight beside him. Even Queen Daenerys hadn’t had this much protection, causing Gendry to awkwardly look around and silently begin planning his escape. The windows and the parapet beyond them made much more sense now.

 

“Lord Gendry, how was your trip?” King Jon stood but did not advance toward the blacksmith. He looked smaller in stature without his usual furs and his eyes, Gendry saw, were red and his cheeks pale. Whether it was exhaustion or sorrow that caused the sallowness in his cheeks, Gendry was unsure.

 

Gendry looked up, almost shocked to be called upon. “I...am I really a Lord, Your Grace? The—”

 

“My rule does not negate all the laws set out by my predecessors. Especially those laws that are worth keeping.”

 

“Even if I don’t want the title?” Gendry challenged, instantly regretting his choice to do so. He even winced at the sound but was soon comforted by the King’s answer.

 

“They still call me King Jon, so yes, the title of Lord is yours to have and yours to keep. Actually,” Jon began, taking a step back toward his makeshift desk, “that's what I wanted to talk to you about.”

 

“Oh?” He looked to Davos, wondering now if the Knight had lied to him and if Gendry had only been granted access to the King because the King had plans of his own.

 

“We need your help here in the smithy. Ser Davos explained to me that you’ve already worked to set those men in the right direction. I don’t mean to make you work but the effort is greatly appreciated.”

 

“Of course, Your Grace.”

 

“Once things have settled down here, I’d request that you head to Storm’s End. From my understanding, that castle also needs work but I doubt it’s something you can’t handle. I have a few of your uncle’s men who once called that place home. Others wish to stay near the capital but don’t wish to return to King’s Landing. I figure it wouldn’t hurt to have some women and children accompany the men, so you’ll be taking them as well. If you wish to have time before their arrival that can be arranged though—”

 

“I do,” Gendry mumbled out in interruption. Davos coughed, causing Gendry to step forward. “Your Grace,” he corrected. “I do need time.”

 

“Of course. Ser Davos and I will see to it that your departure is well prepared for. It’ll be of great importance that I have an ally so close. We need to start planning for a calmer, more peaceful future. The people of Westeros have seen far too much destruction and I can hardly take them all back to Winterfell.”

 

“Winterfell, Your Grace?”

 

“Temporarily. This island can hardly sustain a large family, much less all of King’s Landing.”

 

“The city is completely cleared out then?”

 

“Mostly. A few citizens have chosen to stay, though I worry for their survival, mostly because any supplies - food or otherwise - were lost to the fires.”

 

Gendry decided it was a rather tame way to refer to the Dragon-imposed genocide: _fires_ — as if they were natural, wild, and free. “That’s admirable, Your Grace. Do you suspect their loyalties lie elsewhere?”

 

Before Ser Davos could intervene, Jon let out a hearty laugh. “Certainly not with their old queen or her usurper. I don’t suspect, _I know_ that their loyalties lie with no one. They’re finding it hard to trust one another, let alone a ruler they barely know. As far as they’re concerned, I’m still a bastard.”

 

“Me too.” This time it was just Davos’ eyes that warned the Baratheon boy of his standing. “Your Grace,” he added once more, now with irritation in his voice, clearly aimed at the man that was meant to be his friend.

 

At one point, Gendry looked to Jon as a friend too. The world had changed since then and while Jon was thrust into his role as King, Gendry still found himself wanting to run from his title.

 

“Actually, Your Grace, if I may…”

 

“Yes, what is it? Ser Davos had mentioned you wanted to speak with me. Have a seat. Have you eaten?”

 

Gendry’s eyes narrowed. “No, Your Grace, thank you. I’ll be short. I know you have things to do and—”

 

“Nonsense, sit.”

 

“I...well I suppose I don’t have time because _I_ have things to do.”

 

“Gendry?”

 

“Your sister—”

 

“Lady Sansa?”

 

“No, Your Grace. Arya. Ser Davos tells me she’s against having company.”

 

Jon looked away. “It’s true.”

 

“I was wondering, if I may, Your Grace, go see her perhaps?”

 

“Go see...Arya?” Jon finished, as if learning a simple phrase in a foreign language. “Whatever for?”

 

“We’re...she likely didn’t mention it to you but we were friends once.”

 

“No, she didn’t mention it to me.”

 

“She’s private, you know,” Gendry tried in an attempt to be supportive of the absent girl. “It doesn’t matter much but she helped me and I just wonder if...maybe she needs a friend right now.”

 

“What are you requesting, Gendry?”

 

“Just the ability to knock on her door. Maybe she’ll let me in.” His voice effortlessly changed tone. “I’m sure that sounds crazy,” Gendry began quickly, fumbling through the words with urgency. “I just have this feeling…”

 

“It does. Sound crazy,” Jon clarified. “And altogether inappropriate.”

 

“It’s not like that,” Gendry managed all too quickly. The lie fell from his lips with such finesse that even Ser Davos took note, clearly just as shocked as he was impressed.

 

“That still doesn’t mean it’s appropriate,” Jon sustained. “With all due respect, Gendry, if my begging can’t beckon my stubborn sister out of her chambers I don’t know what else will.”

 

“She is stubborn, Your Grace. I know that more than anyone. I just feel...it would mean a lot to me if you allowed it. I just need to talk to her for a moment. I think it’ll help her. At least I hope it will.”

 

Jon looked to the ocean then back again. “If Ser Davos does not mind accompanying you, I will allow you to knock on her door,” he emphasized. “But let it be known that I’m allowing it with the knowledge that she simply won’t open it for you. She must do this on her own terms. The things she’s seen and gone through—”

 

“Yes, Your Grace, and I wish to hear about those things... _from her._ ”

 

Jon almost laughed again - perhaps he had, but he turned away, back to the ocean before Gendry could bare witness. “It seems you share in my sister’s stubborn nature.”

 

“She’d agree with you, Your Grace.”

 

This time Jon did breathe out a chuckle. “Ser Davos, do you agree to accompany Gendry to Arya’s room?” It was refreshing, Gendry decided, to hear the King drop pretenses when it came to his own family. It was what Arya would want, and what she’d request had she been here.

 

“If that is what you wish, Your Grace.”

 

“I’ll allow it,” Jon said, almost in jest. “Afterward, I believe there’s an empty chamber down on the lower level. Ask a handmaid to prepare it for Lord Gendry.”

 

“Oh, Your Grace, I couldn’t. I’ll sleep out in the smithy.”

 

“Nonsense. It’s not proper.”

 

“But, Your Grace—”

 

“Listen, Gendry, all of these titles and rules mean little to me as well but I am playing along because believe it or not, the people crave stability and if a hierarchy provides that stability then it is my duty as their King, happily or not, to provide that for them.” He inhaled sharply. “If I am a King then you are a Lord and it’s not acceptable for a Lord to sleep outside with his help.”

 

“My help? Your Grace, I—”

 

“You wanted to knock on my sister’s door, did you not?” Jon offered, gesturing to the door. “Ser Davos…”

 

It was an invitation to leave so Gendry followed. Outside, Lord Tyrion rested against the wall taking a long swig from a wine bag.

 

“How was your piss?” Gendry joked.

 

Tyrion grinned in response. “By the look on your face it went far better than your meeting with the King.”

 

Gendry couldn’t respond. Already Davos was heading back down the steps. His silence was unnerving and the longer it continued the more restless Gendry became.

 

“That was foolish,” Ser Davos finally let out when they were far enough away from the King’s solar.

 

“Which part of it?”

 

“All of it,” he tossed back quickly. “If I had known that was what your request truly was, I wouldn’t have allowed it.”

 

“If you were that concerned, you should have asked.”

 

“I didn’t think you’d be so stupid,” Davos finally stated, turning quickly to face Gendry so the boy fumbled and struggled to regain his balance.

 

“If you all think I’m so stupid then none of this should worry you. I’ll knock on Arya’s door—”

 

“ _Princess_ Arya.”

 

“No. That’s one I won’t compromise on. Jon didn’t—"

 

“ _His Grace_ ,” Davos insisted, annoyed he still had to.

 

Gendry exhaled. “I’ll knock on Arya’s door and nothing will come of it.”

 

Davos took a step back, revealing a rather simple door, one that looked much like the others. Their walk away from the King’s meeting room seemed far longer than it actually was. They had only gone down one level and turned. Only two knights stood outside the door. They looked confident but Gendry still outranked them in size. If he was truly a Lord now, he outranked them in other ways too. None of it mattered though; Arya didn’t need anyone’s protection.

 

With skeptical looks, some of them downright amused, each knight watched Gendry approach the door. He had a rucksack slung over his shoulder as if making a delivery or, much more boldly, planning to stay. Gendry looked back to the men as if to ask for more space. When they did not move he turned to the door and raised a clenched fist.

 

Then he knocked.

 

“Arya?”


	2. What They Don't Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeyyyy! Thanks so much to everyone who read/kudos/reviewed the last chapter. The support was awesome and I really appreciate it. 
> 
> **Note: I’ve imagined how the series was going to end for awhile but I really liked what they did with Arya’s storyline last episode (8x05) when it came to her trying to save the same city that essentially broke her heart and essentially made her who she is. So ANYWAY, what I’m saying is I have no idea what’s going to happen tonight (8x06) but this is written without that knowledge so I’ve clearly written what I believe to be a reasonable conclusion BUT I’ve taken complete liberties to make the plot work with this story.

There’s nothing; not a single sound on the other side of the door and for a moment the waves and the wind outside both ceased to exist as if to confirm Arya’s absence.

 

Gendry waited, feeling the glares of the men behind him sinking into his back. They wanted to see him fail as if Arya remaining in her room was a game they had all played and lost at. But they didn’t know Arya the way he did. If Gendry had to guess, they didn’t know Arya at all.

 

With one last breath of hope, Gendry moved his hand up again, ready to rap at the weathered wood with his knuckles. He didn’t need to. Arya was on the other side of the door, displayed only by a shadow when the sound of her movements failed them.

 

“Arya? Open up.” Gendry didn’t hear her exhale but he _felt_ it.

 

“Gendry?”

 

He paused, a grin that was both satisfied and amused tugging at his lips. “Uh, yeah.”

 

“How do I know it’s you?”

 

He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean ‘how do you know’ it’s me?”

 

Gendry imagined her on the other side of the door, calculating. “What was the last thing we did before I left?”

 

“What?” he squawked. “I’m not…” He turned to Davos, then back to the door. “I’m not alone. Pick another question.”

 

“What did you say to me that night?”

 

“I said a lot to you that night...nothing I want anyone else to hear.” Gendry was thankful then that Jon was absent. His aversion to her questions told more than his answers ever would.

 

It was clear to him then that Arya knew exactly what she was doing; it seemed this was a game to her as well. Gendry wasn’t yet aware but he had made it farther than the rest of them had. Usually Arya said nothing when called upon leading everyone to ponder if that day was the day she had finally climbed out her window and ran away.

 

“When’s the last time you saw me in a dress?” Arya asked finally.

 

“Acorn hall.” Gendry stated without hesitation. “You looked like a tree. An oak tree.” The door unlatched at once and he saw her, her eyes wide and her hair somewhat a mess, all of that overshadowed by a soft smile: _relief_. “But a nice oak tree,” he followed, likely unaware that he had even spoke. He was relieved too and his breath caught in his throat in quiet celebration.

 

Arya immediately grabbed for his tunic and pulled him inside. Gendry stumbled in, left only to watch as the room and its warmth swept over him in a single beat. Arya was dressed only in a smock, her silhouette effortlessly apparent even as she kept her body flat against the now latched door. Such a sight was equally painful when pressed up against him. Gendry could feel her nakedness, could smell her hair and her skin as she enveloped him in a crushing hug. All of her melted into him, her frigid form somehow using his broad frame to keep her up. It felt good to have her close and he wrapped his arms around her waist in appreciation. It had been a month since he’d seen her, let alone touched her, and despite what he’d heard she had been through she looked much the same. The only difference was the bandages on her arms and the way her hair was wild around her face, falling out of its plait and framing a few stray cuts along her jaw and forehead. Ironically, she looked as feminine as ever. The only time she looked more like a woman was when she had been laying above him in the stores, naked and painted in moonlight.

 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Arya whispered into his chest. She could feel him too, the familiar strength in his chest and how his presence made her feel safe.

 

“I can’t believe you let me in,” Gendry chuckled with a hand now cradling her neck.

 

He was smiling but then he felt Arya’s breath quicken and her chest tighten. It was possible he knew she was crying before she did. If the tears that soaked through his linen shirt or the tightened grip she now had around his abdomen weren’t clue enough, Gendry actually felt Arya shake against him. Her sadness was so profound it was silent, making him wonder how long she’d been holding it all back.

 

“Hey, hey...it’s okay.”

 

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, still using him to hide behind.

 

“Arya, I...”

 

“Just be quiet, alright?” She picked up her head only so she could look the other way, listening to his heartbeat from a different angle.

 

Gendry looked over her shoulder out the window where beyond the bustling bailey and the island it sat upon stood a vast expanse of ocean. “Yeah. Of course.” Finally he rubbed a hand down her back in an attempt to soothe her. “It’s okay,” he promised again. “It will be.”

 

“It’s not. It’s not okay.”

 

“Arya...”

 

Arya didn’t say anything but she had stopped crying. She was tender in his arms again, constantly strengthened by a resolve Gendry could never quite understand. But her list was complete now — he knew that much — and although she hadn’t been the one to finish it Gendry assumed there should have been some solace to accompany that truth.  

 

All at once she pushed him away. She turned away to wipe at her eyes as if she could conceal or at least banish the grief he had just witnessed. Seeing it had Gendry wanting to pull her in again. The simple fact of seeing her again had her looking beautiful, leaving him speechless.

 

“Why are you here?” she tried calmly.

 

“I don’t...I just felt like I should come.”

 

“You should have stayed in Winterfell.”

 

Gendry furrowed a brow. “Why?”

 

“I’m not good company these days.”

 

“You seem like fine company to me.”

 

Arya padded over to her bed and sat down upon it. With one leg bent beneath her and the other swinging down off the mattress toward the floor, she certainly didn’t look like a lady. “You talked to Jon then?”

 

“And was corrected on his title many times, yes. I guess I can’t call you m’lady. What does one call a princess?”

 

“You call her Arya.” Her voice was startlingly dry.

 

Gendry was fond of it just the same. “Why are you staying in here? They’re worried.”

 

“I have nothing to say to anyone and I don’t want to force conversation.”

 

“Is this forcing conversation?”

 

Arya smirked. “Don’t push it. I’ll kick you out. I mean it.” When he said nothing she shifted, leaning back so she was propped up against her feather pillows. “Sit,” she insisted with a tap to the empty space she’d just created.

 

“I don’t…”

 

“No one else is here. I just...it’s nice to see you.”

 

“You too.” Seeing her arms and how the bandages upon them were tattered and tight, Gendry used the acknowledgement as an excuse to sit down. “Have you had anyone look at those?” he pointed, resisting the urge he had to reach out and touch her again. Selfishly he almost wished she were crying again; she needed his strength and he was all too happy to provide it. Seeing her in this state had him wondering if he’d ever experience the old her again; the one that embraced him because she was happy or excited or anything but sad, really.

 

“I don’t want visitors.”

 

“Then we need—”

 

“I’m not letting them see me. I’m fine. I’ve healed myself before and I’ll do it again.”

 

“Alright. But why...you don’t even want to see Jon?”

 

“Honestly, no. I barely know who he is anymore. He’s full of shit. His heart is broken and he’s acting like everything’s fine. Why? Because he’s King? Fuck the Iron Throne. None of this is okay.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“Not now. Not yet.”

 

“Oh—”

 

“I don’t know what there is to talk about,” she sputtered out. “I can’t...it doesn’t make sense.”

 

“What doesn’t make sense?”

 

“That I’m here. After everything. And why? For what?”

 

“Why? For _what_...what?” There was an urgency in Gendry’s voice.

 

Arya looked to him with heavy eyes. “You think I’m crazy,” she accused.

 

“I don’t think anything. I don’t know much of what’s going on.”

 

“They all think I’m crazy.”

 

“I don’t know if that’s true either. They’re concerned.”

 

“They shouldn’t be.”

 

“Well if you haven’t seen anyone since the siege...”

 

“I didn’t want to come here. I didn’t have a choice.”

 

“Where would you have gone?”

 

“I don’t know. Away?”

 

“Would I have ever seen you again?”

 

“Maybe. I’d hope so.”

 

“Well I’m here. To see you. To...help,” he felt he needed to add though he was not sure if she understood he was talking about helping her and not the cause. “What can I—”

 

“I told you I’m fine...have been fine.”

 

“Someone needs to look at you, Arya.”

 

“If you’re here to lecture me—”

 

Gendry raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not. I just—”

 

“Good. Or I’ll kick you out and not let you back in. I’m serious.”

 

“Why did you let me in then?”

 

“I missed you.” She may have missed him but she didn’t miss a beat. Maybe one had caused the other. “I didn’t know if I’d see you again.”

 

“Whose fault is that?”

 

“Don’t,” Arya warned.

 

“You’re right. Your chambers, your rules. That’s fair.”

 

“Where have they put you?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Sleeping. Have they found space for you? This bloody island is so damn crowded I don’t know how we haven’t sunk into the ocean yet.”

 

Gendry had to chuckle. “I offered to stay down in the smithy but your brother insisted I take a bed here.”

 

“In the Keep?”

 

“I suppose so. Is it rude if I decline?”

 

“Definitely. But you could do it anyway. If that’s what you wanted.” She couldn’t tell what he wanted but she knew what she wanted and was confused to even consider it might not be the same thing.

 

“I don’t...this is all a bit crazy.”

 

“Tell me about it. I’m...I’m terrified.”

 

Gendry’s brow furrowed. “Why? You’re the strongest person I know.”

 

Arya looked away. She swallowed down the lump in her throat that told her that she was close to tears again. Her vision was warm too. She didn’t know how she had anything left in her but some days the sobs didn’t stop. Today, however, with him sitting beside her, she was able to compose herself. “I’m not. I’m...I’m tired. I mean it. I just want to live my life and not have anyone expect anything of me—”

 

“I didn’t—”

 

Arya nodded, smiling. “I know. It’s not you. It’s them. The world. Everyone down in the bailey and beyond. And if I go back to Winterfell it’s not going to change.”

 

“Things are...uncertain now but they won’t always be this way. It’ll get easier. It has to.”

 

“You’ve always been stupidly optimistic.” Her criticism sounded like a compliment.

 

“Thanks?” He almost questioned causing them both to smirk.

 

“I missed you, you know,” she said plainly and without pretense. There was no room for apology in her tone beyond all the honesty.

 

“You said that.”

 

“And I meant it. Mean it,” Arya corrected, still grinning but looking down to where she fidgeted.

 

“It’s only been a few weeks.”

 

She looked back to him. “Feels like longer. It feels like I’ve lived a lifetime since then.”

 

~!~

 

Unlike Arya, Jon spent his days as King completing as many tasks as possible. He surrounded himself with an unnecessary amount of people: his Hand and advisors, soldiers and knights alike. The company, even in their deference, was deafening. If he wasn’t alone he couldn’t hear the sounds of dragonfire and the screams for help. He couldn’t see the destruction and how the woman he loved craved power so much she let it consume her like a disease. His love, he was finding, never seemed to be enough. It killed Ygritte and it lead him to assume the Iron Throne mere hours after Dany took her own life. He’d rule alone, he assumed. He’d love his people just as he’d always loved his family and those in the North but he’d wear his crown like a mask to conceal all the pain that came along with his ascension to power.

 

It also didn’t help that Arya, the sister he had always held in such high regard, had deemed herself a recluse and was refusing to take company, even his own. He’d written to Sansa often asking for advice, but she always wrote back suggesting that Arya needed time. Two fortnights, Jon assumed, was more than enough time.

 

In between public meals and his walks through the city, Jon held council. There was still so much to figure out. With King’s Landing beyond recognition it was almost as if he was tasked with rebuilding all of Westeros. Today, however, he was too distracted. It was the first day in many that the thought he’d been doing his best to avoid bubbled to the surface and demanded his attention. It was a reminder that he was human and that the world around him and the life he was leading — whether he wanted it or not — was very, very real.

 

Afterward, Jon dismissed everyone. The armored men that typically stood on guard beside him were asked to leave as well. Only Ser Davos and Tyrion remained and the two men awkwardly passed around the pitcher of wine while they waited for the King to speak. Finally, Jon set down the parchment he was looking at and voiced his thoughts.

 

“Did either of you know about Gendry and Arya?” It seemed all pretenses were dropped in private moments, pretenses owned by the same people that never asked for them and were playing along as if they owed it to the world.

 

Tyrion shrugged as if to give the smuggler the floor to share his opinions. Davos sighed. “Well—”

 

“When did he and Arya meet? I mean, how could—”

 

“It’s complicated,” Davos interjected. “That’s all he has ever told me. I know they were both young. Trauma, as you know, encourages bonding.”

 

“What kind of bonding?” The King’s voice was skeptical.

 

“As he said...they were young.”

 

“I was young once too,” Jon grumbled.

 

Tyrion sat forward and took the opportunity to refill his chalice. “He’s a good enough lad though, isn’t he? A little simple but a decent man. He’s done a lot for us.”

 

“Exactly. Don’t let his demeanor fool you. There’s a lot going on in that hot head of his. Gendry Waters is hardly simple,” Davos warned.

 

“Gendry Baratheon now,” Jon reminded, almost for the purpose of gauging their reactions.

 

Davos didn’t hesitate; he was pleased to be able to speak his mind. “He doesn’t want the title.”

 

“He made that clear but he has no option. I won’t rule by fire but I need him.”

 

“It seems Arya needs him too,” Tyrion smirked, sipping at his wine.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

Tyrion looked to Davos and raised his brows in challenge. The smuggler rolled his eyes and with arms crossed over his chest, he huffed. “She let him in. To her room. I was going to tell you but—”

 

“You’re lying.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“She opened her door? For him?”

 

“She did. Rather effortlessly too. Asked him a question or two to confirm it was him but...she knew his voice through the door. She sounded happy...relieved.”

 

“That doesn’t make sense.”

 

“Little of Arya’s behavior has made sense since we brought her back,” Tyrion reminded.

 

“Well she can’t live in that room. She can’t hide from the world forever.”

 

“I don’t think...”

 

“And what frustrates me is that when she’s ready to leave she won’t say goodbye either. She’ll just vanish. It’s what she did last time. It’s just what she...does.”

 

“Won’t that require her to leave her room first?”

 

“I don’t know what happened to her but she’s not the sister I once had. I’m concerned. I’m confused. I don’t know what else to do.”

 

“Jon, the things she saw. A girl has a breaking point, doesn’t she?”

 

“The rest of us—”

 

“She’s been through enough. As a child...when does she get to breathe?”

 

Jon said nothing. Finally he scoffed: “She’s hardly a child.”

 

“With all due respect, I just think you need to be patient. Besides, she’s perfectly safe here. The girl can protect herself and it frees you up to continue reestablishing the kingdom.”

 

“I suppose.” A defeated expel of breath followed. “So what’ll she do? Continue collecting her meals? Not coming to dinner or breakfast or any of the gatherings? We just wait?”

 

“Yes, I suppose we do.”

 

“Do you think Gendry will be able to assist? Maybe he’s right. Maybe seeing an old friend—”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“This is good then. You’ve set him up in one of the smaller quarters downstairs?”

 

“Aye. I have.”

 

“Great. Instruct him to take meals with us. Maybe he can convince her to join us.”

 

“He appreciated your offer and has requested to run the forge, just as he had at Winterfell and to be honest we need him.”

 

“Yes, he can spend his days doing that,” Jon acknowledged. “After lunch he will join us for council. It will be a good opportunity for him to see what my plans are and maybe figure out how he fits into all of it. Currently, aside from Sansa, he’s my only guaranteed ally. We’ll start tomorrow.”

 

Davos looked to Tyrion. “Tomorrow then.”

 

~!~

 

Eventually Davos and Tyrion were dismissed too, the pair hesitant to leave the King alone for they feared where his mind ran to when not accompanied. Sometimes they saw signs of a possible Mad King, proof that everyone could be driven to a certain level of insanity if tested enough. In all honesty neither man envied Jon’s new position, especially Tyrion who now realized there were other problems for the King to tend to - problems Ser Davos knew far more about than he was letting on.

 

This truth had Tyrion stopping on the steps, sending Davos lurching forward as he tripped over his own feet. “You,” the Lannister emphasized, “are a terrible liar.”

 

Davos pushed past Tyrion and continued his path down the steps. “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

“His Grace will learn eventually. Whatever is going on between the Smith and the Princess…”

 

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Davos insisted with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “I only know that he...they are close but they’re private,” he managed, pleased to be relieved of the information. “Gendry sent a raven after the battle asking about Arya so I wrote back something simple saying she was alive. Now he’s here.”

 

“I’m to believe that’s a coincidence?”

 

Davos looked over his shoulder. “You’re to keep your mouth shut.”

 

“You know,” Tyrion entertained, “typically hiding things from the King does not make you a good Hand.”

 

“This is hardly something he needs to know about. It’s innocent, I’m sure.”

 

The pair made it to a landing below, where just beyond several quarters were marked by small entryways. Tyrion made a show of his path, one that led him to stand with his hands behind his back just outside one of the rooms. It was the only one with its door open and inside the night sky peeked through the small window and draped the room in a deep blue. The hammer by the door and the leather apron hanging by the fire was telling. It was Gendry’s room and it was untouched.

 

Tyrion gave a smug smirk. He even gestured toward the room. “Is it though?”

 

Davos walked past, paying the empty room and its contents no mind. “Nonsense. The boy knows better than to push it. Friends or not he knows it’s not appropriate to spend this much time with her in private. He’s lucky we’re allowing it at all.”

 

“ _We_ didn’t allow much. Arya let him in. And from the looks of it he would have knocked on the door regardless he was just trying to be polite.”

 

Davos turned around, causing Tyrion to sputter to a halt at the top of the last set of steps. It was like this with them often: a give and take of different energies. Combined they were every good and bad thought a man — a king — could ever have, their roles as either constantly changing.

 

“Gendry’s smart. He clearly cares for the girl. That much is clear. He won’t do anything to risk that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews help me to write. Let me know what you think! 
> 
> And best of luck for tonight’s series finale. For a realist I’m oddly optimistic? (Cue my heart breaking)
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	3. Bold Faced Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can now happily announce that this fic is completely AU. I’m ignoring 8x06 altogether...for obvious reasons. One of my main gripes with it is the same thing that pushed me to write this story: Arya seeing the charred bodies of innocent people reminded her of her humanity. Also, even for an assassin, it’s traumatic. She had always killed guilty men and had done so without remorse. With the same energy she protected those who could not protect themselves. The Mad Queen’s attack, however, was one even she was powerless against and I think for someone like Arya who has really tried to take control of her own life and make it what she needs it to be for survival that would have her feeling very mentally unstable. Why am I explaining this? (Aside from my need to vent about that finale BECAUSE C’MON!?) If Arya seems a bit OOC it’s intentional. As Davos said last chapter. “A girl has a breaking point.” 
> 
> So with that, let’s continue...

Gendry’s outstretched arm tingled in search of feeling as he blinked himself awake. He was unsure if it was the bright sun and waves outside or the numbness in his left side that had him stirring but both suddenly seemed persistent. The cause of his discomfort, a rather peaceful looking Arya Stark curled up into his side, had Gendry pausing to both enjoy the moment and calculate his inevitable exit. He didn’t remember falling asleep last night and he certainly didn’t remember falling asleep with her. The last time they’d done this it had been a loud horn that stirred them, signaling the arrival of the Undead. It was nothing like this was now: quiet and perfectly warm and safe. 

  


Arya’s lips were mere seconds from his skin, her mouth tucked in between Gendry’s ear and the slope of his broad shoulders. One hand gripped at his chest while the other lay claim to his bicep, curving her palm around his arm as if it were the perfect pillow. Her chemise had ridden up and Gendry could see the outline of her hips beneath. Arya never wore smallclothes. She had told him once how it made riding a horse inconvenient and when Gendry was bold enough to ask why she didn’t just ride side-saddle like a proper Lady she rolled her eyes and stomped away. He couldn’t imagine such a sight either but it was always amusing to rile her up, even if it often pushed her away — mostly because it also enticed her into coming back. 

  


The current vision and feel of her sleeping next to him was innocent. Arya clung to Gendry like a child scared. 

  


Before he could shift and even attempt to introduce blood back into his limp left side, there was a rather loud knocking at the door. 

  


“Arya,” Gendry whispered in an attempt to rouse her. But the girl slept soundly. “Arya!” He hissed once more. She was never a sound sleeper but she clearly wasn’t lying when she had told him how exhausted she was. Apparently the danger of being caught in bed with a man that was not her husband or even her betrothed was not akin to the constant uncertainty of the Brotherhood or any of their shared nights at Harrenhal. Actually, curled into his side she looked content - a rarity considering needle was on the chest at the foot of the bed and not attached at her hip as it once had been. 

  


Gendry would have laid here in bed with her forever if he could but it seemed there was always an inconvenient interruption — as if an interruption of any kind could ever be convenient. Though, it was worth noting, waking up in Arya Stark’s bed had Gendry fearing any man in the castle just as much as he once feared the Night King. The knock of the fist on the door was far more ominous than the horns that sounded at Winterfell. He’d tell Arya and she’d roll her eyes, if only she’d wake up. 

  


“Arya,” he kicked finally. 

  


Arya grumbled and turned away from him. “He does this every morning,” she mumbled sleepily. “If you ignore it he goes away.”

  


Gendry lifted up onto his forearms and looked to her incredulously. “He?”

  


“Jon.”

  


“The King? You ignore  _ the King _ ?”

  


“He’s not the King, he’s my foolish brother,” she scoffed. Her tone lacked more and more sleep with each passing word. “He can eat rocks.”

  


Gendry snorted out a laugh and Arya, her eyes still closed, was made to smile. The moment, however, was short lived. 

  


“Arya?” The voice on the other side of the door came, now unmistakably belonging to Jon. Arya burrowed further into her pillow as if she were invincible. “I swear, Arya,” he continued, “these games aren’t funny. They can’t be played forever—”

  


All at once Arya pulled herself to her feet. She was a ball of fire when she moved like this — incensed and motivated by a rage he didn’t think was possible to contain in such a small frame. Gendry watched as she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, concealing the parts of herself she had once showed him so willingly. Similarly he looked down to his own attire. He didn’t remember when but he had shed his shirt in the night and was only in his linen smallclothes. His breeches were folded and hanging on the footboard at the end of the bed. 

  


Though this was likely his cue to hide or at least begin dressing, Gendry was too mesmerized to move. Any other man would have cowered at the mere thought of a woman protecting him but Gendry was mostly entertained by it. This was Arya and this had always been Arya and though she currently existed in this altered state, the real her was clearly treading water just beneath the surface, waiting for a safe moment to come up for air. 

  


“What?” Arya snapped as she yanked the door open. Jon immediately attempted to push inside but she was quicker. Her reflexes were like none Gendry had ever seen. That first night when he’d reached out to touch her, to feel the softness of her hips and the rest of her curves beneath his fingertips Arya grabbed his hands and held them upward, pushing them into the bags of grain they laid upon. She had kissed him for all he was worth then, turning him breathless - igniting him. She was in control and he didn’t mind. It didn’t matter when they wanted all the same things.

  


“Absolutely not,” Arya balked, causing Gendry to surge back to the present. 

  


“Arya—”

  


“It’s not appropriate! I’m not dressed!”

  


“You’re my sister!”

  


“And we’re not Lannisters.”

  


Gendry snickered into his shoulder while the King took a clear beat to breathe out. “Don’t be disgusting,” Jon said simply. 

  


“Please have them bring me up a plate,” Arya returned just as softly.

  


“No.”

  


“What?”

  


“No,” he repeated. “If you don’t come downstairs you don’t eat.”

  


“You can’t do that!”

  


“I can and I will.”

  


“Jon!”

  


Arya smacked on the door and watched as he walked away. She whined, even stomping her feet. “Ohhhhggghhhh?!” She groaned in dismissal as she trudged loudly back to the bed. “He can’t do that!”

  


“He’s the King. He can do what he wants,” Gendry reminded, still not moving. “Like kill me if he knows I was here last night. How did we…”

  


“I don’t remember.” 

  


“How do I get out of here?”

  


Still wearing her blanket she pointed toward the door with a fist covered by the frayed wool edges. “You use the door.” 

  


“There are knights outside that door.”

  


“I’ve threatened them on more than one occasion. They’re loyal to me.”

  


“More loyal than the are to the King?”

  


“Yes.” Arya didn’t even blink. "They've met needle." 

  


“We...”

  


Arya stood. She reached across him to grab for his shirt which she soon tossed his way. The linen hit his face and fell down to his chest. “Off you go.”

  


Gendry smirked and rolled out of bed. “As m’lady commands,” he gestured, causing Arya to narrow her eyes in disgust.

  


His breeches were next. She hit him in the face with those too then as he stood to put them on she sat, watching. “You’ll come visit me later?”

  


“What?” Gendry looked up from tying the laces at his hips.

  


“What else do you have to do?”

  


“Work.”

  


“Work?”

  


“Such a rich girl,” he chided. “Yes, work.”

  


“Is that why you came here? To work?”

  


Gendry paused. “I think you know the answer to that.”

  


“Do I?”

  


Gendry tossed on his jerkin. He wasn’t sure if Arya’s sour face was due to his hesitance in answering her or his newly concealed skin. “I’ll come by later,” he promised.

  


“Because you feel obligated?”

  


“Like I felt obligated to spend nearly two fortnights traveling here? For what? Working in a smithy? Yeah, Arya, I feel obligated.”

  


When he took a step toward the door Arya stood, as if not wanting to lose the current distance that separated them. Her arms were over her chest but she leaned back, playing coy. “Later then?”

  


Gendry nodded and shook his head, releasing another chuckle. “Later.”

  


~!~

  


Sleeping in Arya’s chambers meant Gendry didn’t have the chance to admire his own. There was a single window that looked out onto the bailey and a chair beneath it to fill the empty space there. Gendry had never really had a room of his own and before now he didn’t seem to mind. He clearly didn’t know what had been kept from him his whole life and now he wondered how he’d walk away from it, if that was what Arya truly wanted to do. He hadn’t yet told her the news of his legitimization and subsequent acquisition as the new Lord of Storm’s End. Maybe he wouldn’t have to now. 

  


Even the small bed pushed against the wall had a sturdier frame and a softer mattress than he was used to. The linens on the bed were far from being as nice as Arya’s but they were still more inviting than his usual burlap. He didn’t feel as if he belonged in this room yet he’d felt somewhat at home in with Arya. Gendry assumed the presence of the girl that drove him mad was his opinion’s main influence. 

  


On the seat beneath the window laid a large bowl of water - clear water and a similarly clean cloth draped over the chair back in a way that was inviting. It felt silly to wash up before going out to the smithy but Gendry did it anyway. It was almost rude to reject the clear effort someone had made to make him comfortable. 

  


This was why when he arrived down to the smithy the men that were already working turned to him and gave a scoff of disapproval. 

  


“Bloody bastard gets the Keep,” one of them said, pointing at Gendry with the iron tongs he clutched. 

  


“I was invited. I couldn’t say no,” Gendry reminded as he tied his leather apron around his waist. 

  


“How are the beds? Soft?” Umfrey added, daydreaming while the other men continued on in disdain.

  


Gendry immediately thought of Arya, then cursed himself for doing so. “They’re fine.” 

  


“Just fine? We can switch tonight if you wanted to remember how  _ fine _ our beds are down here,” another man said. A loud cloud of belly laughter sounded from inside the smithy as the castle around them continued to come alive. 

  


Gendry quickly got to work, focusing on all of the nails that still needed to be crafted. He actually missed dragonglass. He felt he had a purpose in Winterfell and there was an urgency that existed like an energy he’d never quite felt before. The cold helped, of course, as did Arya’s sporadic visits. But she wouldn’t be stopping by now and the men he worked with were right: he absolutely would have preferred to be back in the bed he’d shared with her last night.

  


“Gendry!”

  


He tossed his head upward as steel splinters fell to the ground below. Davos stood just outside the smithy, watching the newly appointed Lord toiling at the forge. It seemed they had ended up here again: with Gendry at work while Davos looked on, waiting for the perfect time to proposition the blacksmith.

  


“ _ Lord _ Gendry,” Davos corrected.

  


Gendry tossed down his hammer and walked over to Davos. His men, as they always did, looked on in amazement. They may have made fun of him but Gendry’s peculiar placement in this world — his status in the in-between — was fascinating. 

  


“Let’s take a walk,” Davos suggested. The Hand didn’t wait for Gendry’s response. It was an order, not a suggestion. 

  


Gendry paused all the same. He tossed a thumb over his shoulder. “I need to—”

  


“Tomas,” Davos was calling out already. “Come finish this for Lord Gendry, would you?”

  


A heavy sigh fell from Gendry’s mouth rather easily as he wiped off his hands and began to follow Davos out of the smithy and toward the rest of the island where other trades stood in their own makeshift spaces, attempting to perform similar tasks in aid of their ash-ridden city. As they walked, Davos looked around. His hands stuffed in his pockets or holding his sword and belt comfortably at his waist, he didn’t even bother to look to Gendry as he spoke. Gendry wondered if he’d learned to be this casual from his days at sea. The best hiding spot was amongst the enemy, he’d once told him. These people were hardly the enemy but if Davos’ posture was any indication, Gendry didn’t need them hearing what the older man had to say.

  


“Where were you last night?” 

  


Gendry shook his head and rolled his lips inward as if to tighten their seal. “Don’t know what you mean.”

  


“Because I shut your door before the moon came up. I shut it because you weren’t there and I didn’t want anyone to know.”

  


“I...”

  


“Was with the princess, I assume,” Davos offered in feigned assistance. 

  


“We’re—”

  


“Lying, clearly.”

  


Gendry’s shoulders slumped. “What do you want me to say?”

  


Davos turned, causing Gendry to stop walking as well. They stood facing one another, Gendry’s broad shoulders and height still no match for Davos’ authority. “That you won’t be that stupid again,” he ordered simply. “Do you know what they can do to you?”

  


“I came here  _ for her _ . I won’t stop seeing her. She opened the door for me,” he reminded with an irritated whine. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

  


“It does actually. And His Grace will discuss that with you.”

  


“Discuss it?”

  


“We’ll be meeting after lunch. Wash up and be prompt. I set you out some clean clothing.”

  


Gendry smirked. “I’m not playing Lord. Even if it pleases the King. I’m not—”

  


“If you want to see the princess I suggest you do.” Davos moved to shuffle away in a way that essentially dismissed Gendry. 

  


Before he could, Gendry called him back. His volume revealed that he clearly forgot Davos’ clear plan to avoid suspicion. That, or he didn’t care; he was the very thing the man was accusing him of —  _ careless _ . 

  


“Why are you doing this? Why are you covering for me?”

  


“I’m not doing it just for you. That girl has been through enough,” Davos hushed as he took a step back in. “If you make her smile you may be the only thing that does. I think I can do my best to turn a blind eye for that.”

  


~!~

  
  


“Uh, thank you,” Gendry managed. The smile he shared with the servant girl was returned for just a little too long, adding to how uncomfortable he already felt being in this room. Fruits and cheeses and wine were spread out before them like treasure and Gendry watched nervously as each man talked to one another or looked down at papers he couldn’t decipher, eating all the while. It didn’t help that it was now a full day and it was likely Arya had made it through the hours without eating. Her stubbornness, Gendry resolved, would keep her satisfied until morning.

  


The conclusion had Gendry looking to Jon. He hid behind the cup he held to his lips, wearing the silver like a mask while he took stock of everyone in the room, trying to predict how all of this was going to go. Inevitably he looked to the King, wondering if Jon really did not know that he had slept in Arya’s bed the night before. That thought was enough to terrify him so much that he didn’t consider the other things the King didn’t know: that first night in the stores with Arya and then the one that followed, the last one in her chambers where for only a moment things seemed so perfect. 

  


“Lord Gendry?”

  


The Baratheon boy looked up, disrupting the drowning gaze he held with his still full chalice. “I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

  


“I was wondering if you had considered a timeline. For your departure.”

  


“I...no, Your Grace, I haven’t. My apologies I...there’s a lot to be done. I’ve only just started on the portcullis.”

  


“What?”

  


“Lord Gendry has taken it upon himself to reinforce Dragonstone's crumbling infrastructure,” Tyrion offered, forcing Gendry to remember that he and Jon were not alone. 

  


“The portcullis, it’s...it’s failing. I’m sorry I thought you knew. Did I misunderstand? Are we not fixing Dragonstone?” Gendry inquired, looking around for assistance. One of them had approved his offer, though he couldn’t remember who. 

  


“No, we are,” the King assured. “I just haven’t figured who it will be going to.” Jon sat back and sighed, taking the moment to rub at his face in frustration. 

  


Gendry persisted. “Wouldn’t it be wise to keep it for the Kingdom?”

  


“How so?”

  


“In case King’s Landing is ever under attack again.”

  


“Perhaps. I suppose then that is wise.”

  


“I can start on King’s Landing if you prefer,” Gendry offered. “Though that’d require a trip and—“

  


“You needn’t concern yourself with all of that,” Jon insisted. 

  


“Your Grace, I...if that’s what you want.”

  


Gendry sank back into his chair, fading into the background of a meeting that actually grew to be quite tense. He paid attention and made note of everyone’s differing standpoints but he only interjected when he was called upon. If this life was thrust upon him and he had no choice but to embrace it at least he’d be informed but a strong ruler, he was not. And if Davos was Hand of the King, who would advise him? 

  


_ Arya... _

  


“Lord Gendry, stay would you?” he looked up again, unsure of how he’d lost his senses once more. He had slept soundly last night. In fact it was the most sleep he could ever remember getting. Gendry assumed now that that was the problem; though he’d left Arya’s bed many hours before there was still a large part of him that was left behind. 

  


“Alone...” Jon added to his request when he saw Tyrion and Davos trailing slowly behind the guards. They left the room with a pronounced slam of the door, something Tyrion would no doubt blame on the shift of the wind in and out of the castle. Davos heard it for what it was: a warning given in jest. 

  


“Yes, Your Grace?”

  


“Can we drop the titles? Is that okay with you?”

  


“Yes...Your Grace,” Gendry finished awkwardly. 

  


Jon smiled and sat back. He latched his hands over his abdomen and stretched his feet out in front of him beneath the table. “I’ve been told that Arya opened her door for you.”

  


“She did.”

  


“That’s interesting.” Gendry didn’t know what to say so he sat silent and waited for what he believed to be an inevitable elaboration. “What did she say?”

  


“We...I don’t know. We didn’t really talk.”

  


“You didn’t talk?”

  


Panic flashed across Gendry’s features and he swallowed in an attempt to regain any and all lost composure. “She asked about my journey, I guess.”

  


“Is she okay?”

  


“Seemed to be. I’m sure she’d be better if she was given food.”

  


“If she went down to the kitchen she could—”

  


“Arya doesn’t like attention,” Gendry gave plainly. “Surely you know this.”

  


Jon dropped his head back and laughed. "Aye, I do. But it wasn't always like this, you know. When we were little she didn’t mind. She did anything to have her mother and father’s attention. Her mother usually looked on in shame...embarrassment at the girl she was...or the girl her mother wishes she was. Our father...there was always a bit of pride there. Arya was  _ always _ his favorite. She loved getting his attention.”

  


“She’s a woman now. A lot has happened since then.”

  


“Clearly more you know about than I do.” Gendry sighed so Jon waited. “If you know something, Gendry, please speak freely. Our fathers were once friends and I certainly looked at you as a friend before all of this. I hope my new title doesn’t ruin that - I’d hope it wouldn’t. Believe it or not but like Arya, I don’t like attention either. I don’t particularly like playing the hero. I’d honestly prefer to be back in Winterfell but that’s between you and me. I have a duty.”

  


Gendry couldn’t help himself. He sat forward and quirked a brow in question. “Arya has no duty. She owes nothing to anyone.”

  


Jon contemplated. “You’re right. But she’s a Stark and this is still King’s Landing. Starks don’t last long in King’s Landing so if she just aims to leave, I can respect that. I’ll even help her to go. But disappearing like this...people talk and when I’m trying to keep the peace it doesn’t help that on top of all they say about me they’re also saying nonsense things about her.”

  


“Well with all due respect, they can fuck right off.”

  


Jon snorted. “I’d agree with you there...though I can’t say that. If you’d like to…well, actually, I wouldn’t recommend that either.”

  


The two men shared a laugh in a way that suggested they were still bastards and existed in a much simpler life somewhere else completely. When it quieted down, Gendry nodded. “I know only what Arya has told me. It’s why I wouldn’t feel right telling you anything. Anything you want to know should come from Arya. You are a friend. I mean that. But Arya was in my life first. I wouldn’t disrespect her like that.”

  


Jon paused. “I guess I can respect that too.” 

  


Hesitantly, he nodded. “Right. Good.”

  


“I trust you, Gendry. And I wanted to let you know that I appreciated what you did for us in Winterfell and I’m sure you’ll be of great service here as well. I’m glad the Dragon Queen did what she did and I hope you’ll understand your own duty and what it means to the Seven Kingdoms.You’ll be a wonderful Lord of Storm’s End and your alliance could really help me. And,” Jon started in a less serious tone, “if you can get my sister to come out of her chambers that’d be nice too.” 

  


Without being dismissed, Gendry stood. Jon’s light demeanor had him feeling more confident than he should have. The declaration that followed held a similar theme. “I can’t force your sister to do anything. No one can.”

  


As he walked out of John’s solar only moments later Gendry couldn’t remember if Jon had responded to his statement. It didn’t matter, a fact that was emphasized by the lack of light filtering out from beneath Arya’s door. He paused but ultimately kept walking, toward the steps then down to the chambers he had been admiring only that morning — hours that seemed so far away now. As he laid alone in bed that night Gendry wondered if it was the darkness or the lies he’d told the King that kept him from knocking. 


	4. Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is ROUGH. Reviews dropped last chapter and work has been insane so my confidence in my writing and my motivation to share it has been shit, to say the least. You’ve been warned? 
> 
> (But also a big thank you to those of you who did read/review/kudos...this mess of a chapter is for you lovely humans!)

Arya felt she was being punished. She could only remember one time at Winterfell when it had been like this: her mother had scolded her for dirtying a brand new frock and she was locked away in her room, told she couldn't attend the same party she'd hoped to avoid in the first place. She’d escaped that night, climbed down a wall similar to the one Bran had been pushed from - her heeled boots slick against the icy stone maneuvering easily with the help of several carefully placed windows. Things were easier, she had found, when you were in control. Sneaking out was something characteristic and almost cute for a young girl to do. She was constantly breaking her mother’s rules, causing arguments between her parents over what her role as a lady should be, even so young. Her life had been planned out for her and she had a surname that granted her the privilege to make those choices. A lady could choose not to be a lady; a common girl wouldn't even consider that her station in life was an option, one she was capable of changing.

 

Those same commoners, like the mother and daughter Arya had attempted to help in King's Landing, were merely victims of their circumstances. Who was to say if their fates would have played out differently once the Mad Queen ascended the throne? Arya found all rulers to be  _ mad _ and hoped her brother would rid himself of the title quickly. It did not matter that the throne was rightfully his or that it looked as if he was actually capable of bringing peace and prosperity to Westeros. If the dragonfire in King’s Landing had taught her anything it was this: Monarchies were a farce. People were not meant to rule or be ruled. 

 

Looking back on that day, one she pondered on just as much as she winced at each flash of passing memory, Arya battled with her escape. Like her title, an opportunity had been presented to her in the form of a white horse and she willingly took it, riding out of the city in a way that was surreal and almost dreamlike. Time sharpened the moment into focus, convincing Arya of what it truly was: she was not escaping, she was a little girl running scared. Arya had made herself so numb to fear she’d almost forgotten what it felt like. She added  _ terror _ to the heap with all her other recently awoken feelings:  _ love, lust, respect, longing _ …

 

Terror was banished the night before the Undead arrived and again just a few days ago when she’d heard his voice on the other side of her door; Gendry was every remaining fibre of human in her being and as he always had, Arya was currently infuriated with him. When he didn’t visit her as he promised, Arya fell asleep, thankful for her relentless exhaustion for overshadowing her fury. It also didn’t help that beyond his company she was craving the food she knew he’d bring, food that was eventually left at her door by an apologetic Ser Davos. The porridge turned cold and began to thicken, cementing the wooden spoon to the base of the bowl. Arya only managed to grab for the pitcher of water before locking herself back in her room. Every day was a reminder that she needed to be elsewhere, a thought that up until now had her envisioning herself seeking Gendry out, wherever he was. But she knew where he was. As she sipped at her water she watched him down in the smithy. 

 

That seemed like hours ago. Arya’s sleep was fitful at best, leading her to drift in and out of sleep while she sat by the fire, rolling Needle’s intricate handle between her palms in an attempt to keep herself busy. It was a groan of her aching stomach that had Arya blinking herself awake. Her hands and feet were cold and the room was almost dark as the fire meant to warm her was mere ash now. Arya stood, ready to tend to it when she heard a knock at the door. 

 

“Arya,” it came gently, so gently she believed for a moment that she may have still been sleeping and was simply lost in a dream. Then: “Arya!” It was confirmation that she was very much awake as she now pictured Gendry with his fist to the wood, insisting upon entry. She huffed and turned away from the door, deciding her need for a fire was currently stronger than her hunger. 

 

“Open up, ‘Arry,” Gendry finally joked from the other side of the door, causing a newly-warmed Arya to stiffen and look to the entrance once more. 

 

“A little late, don’t you think?” she called out. 

 

“Well better late than never...which is what it’s going to be if someone sees me standing outside your door for much longer…”

 

She tightened the wrap around her shoulders and shuffled silently toward the door. “Are you alone?” 

 

“Aye,” his Flea Bottom drawl confirmed in an almost sultry way. “And I have food.”

 

She didn’t know if the pain in her stomach was starvation or the yearning of a different kind, both of which could be cured by the man in the hallway. Either way she opened the door for Gendry and couldn’t help but to smile as she took in the sight of him carrying a servant’s tray full of goods. Arya was so distracted she didn’t notice that it was him pushing her back into the room so he could latch and lock the door. Her senses were practically nonexistent with her in this state: hungry and embarrassingly so. Arya moved to grab for the tray but was stopped when she witnessed Gendry lift it up out of her reach.

 

“Hey!”

 

“Promise me,” Gendry began, still holding the tray up high as if it were of no consequence to him. 

 

“Promise you what?”

 

“I bring this with conditions.”

 

“Men and their conditions,” Arya grumbled.

 

Gendry found the comment to be off putting but he shrugged it off in pursuit of the larger goal: “I want to look at your burns.”

 

She scoffed out a laugh and padded back toward the bed. “No.”

 

“Then you starve.”

 

“Gendry!” Arya stomped. 

 

“It’s me!”

 

“Exactly!”

 

His forehead creased as he took her in. “What does that mean?” 

 

They were family, weren’t they? He had seen all she had to offer the world and the parts she kept hidden. They once shared secrets but that was years ago. Too much had happened since then but Gendry assumed that what he did know could be explored; he only lacked the knowledge because of the time and distance that previously separated them. They had forever to get reacquainted. Wasn’t that what this — her survival and his — all was for? 

 

“It means...they’re ugly and they’re healing and they’re fine.”

 

“They don’t look fine. At all. And they don’t look like they’re healing. In fact they look—”

 

Arya groaned. She pushed at his shoulders then stomped away, repositioning her shawl as she did so. “Fine, you big bull...bullying me.”

 

“Bullying you?” Gendry chuckled. “I brought you supper  _ and _ medical care. I’m practically a knight.”

 

“I don’t need a knight.”

 

“A friend then?” Gendry rolled his eyes and handed her the tray of food. He watched as she started to eat. “What do you do all day?”

 

Arya swallowed the jam-covered bread she’d bit into. “Read. Sleep. Eat, usually,” she conceded with a shrug, causing Gendry to snicker. “Take baths.”

 

He perked up. “I need help with that actually.”

 

“Taking a bath?”

 

“No,” he laughed. “Reading.”

 

“Oh.”

 

He waited before trying again. “Will you help me?”

 

Arya seemed hesitant too. “You want me to...teach you...to read?”

 

“Yes. Why? Who else?”

 

“I don’t...I’ve never really taught anyone anything before. I don’t know if I’d be good at it.”

 

“Well I can’t read for shit so...”

 

Arya laughed but continued to eat. She had returned her attention to the dwindling fire and even walked toward the barely-there flame when she felt as if she’d finally had enough to eat, or at least enough to hold her over until she could manage another meal. Her appetite had not yet returned but at least she was not rejecting everything she ate as she originally did when she was brought back to Dragonstone. 

 

Those days felt like a lifetime ago. Arya padded toward the fireplace and tossed in the last of the remaining wood. The scraps crackled before igniting, creating temporary heat and fleeting light. 

 

“It’s habit but I don’t know why I do it,” she thought, aloud. “This room is wickedly hot.” It was, she figured, though it hadn’t been before he arrived. It was as if Gendry had brought the forge to her, warming every part of her that previously felt so cold in his absence. 

 

“It’s not Winterfell,” he reminded simply. 

 

“That’s painfully clear.”

 

“I can take you back.”

 

“I don’t need company.”

 

Gendry sighed. “I’m not here to save you, Arya. I’m here to...let me in, alright? As a friend.”

 

Arya sipped at her ale. “Well I don’t know if I’m ready to go back.”

 

“So you’ll stay here...locked away?”

 

“I’m working on it.”

 

“What? Your escape?”

 

“No. A plan. One that makes sense...can we get this over with?” she stammered, looking over her shoulder with an impatient glare he imagined she had learned for Sansa or even her own mother. 

 

“Oh. Yeah. Sure,” he managed quickly. 

 

He reached past her and she watched as he grabbed for the single jar on her tray. He didn’t uncap the jar but instead set the glass down upon the bed. The contents inside did not move even as Arya repositioned herself in front of him, moving so more of her weight was atop the feather mattress and closer to him. 

 

“Take those off,” Gendry instructed, pointing to the thick muslin bandages that covered Arya’s arms. 

 

“Bossy,” she quipped, all the while complying. 

 

Gendry smirked. “I’m sorry  _ Princess Arya _ . Please take your bandages off,  _ your highness _ .”

 

Arya couldn’t help but to laugh and she did so in a way that contradicted all other forms of propriety she had attempted to impose before now. It was a laugh Gendry remembered hearing from when they were younger — a laugh she only let slip when she was feeling the most relaxed and the most comfortable. In all her calm, Arya gave in simply and began to unravel the cloth surrounding her forearms. She stopped though and looked back to him. “They’re ugly,” she warned.

 

“So?”

 

“I’m fine. I mean it,” Arya insisted. 

 

“Good. Let’s see them then.” 

 

It was a slow unveiling but as more and more skin came into view even Gendry, a man well acquainted with heat and flame, found each burn to be more blistered and angry-looking than the last. Some of the skin had already begun to scab but Arya didn’t flinch. She stood by her burns as if she was proud of them. If she weren’t (and Gendry knew she wasn’t) she at least would not apologize for them. It was Stark pride written across her features as she sat stoic and pretended as if the night air now kissing her skin was not introducing an additional level of discomfort she clearly hadn’t experienced in days. 

 

“Do they hurt?” 

 

“What do you think?”

 

“These should be more healed by now,” he said, predicting the eye-roll Arya gave immediately thereafter. 

 

“I know.”

 

Even so, his calloused fingers skidded gently across her skin, applying only the smallest of pressure to certain areas to test Arya’s sensitivity. A small wince or a prolonged blink was all he could manage from her. Otherwise she was silent and unmoving, as if her healing was an inconvenience allowed for Gendry’s benefit. 

 

“You should have let someone take a look at you, Arya—”

 

“Don’t lecture me.”

 

“Right.” 

 

Arya was in too much pain to turn to him fully. She sat facing the window and Gendry sat directly behind her. If he leaned forward he could embrace her in his arms or donate a path of soft kisses to the curve of her mostly unscathed neck. These were the things she focused on, just as she had in the weeks prior to his arrival, that made all of this more bearable. Things were better once, Arya reminded herself, and with him so close even when she was in pain she had the foolishness to believe that maybe someday they’d be good again.

 

“What in the bloody hells is that?” she finally squawked as the concoction contained in Gendry’s jar was on his fingers then on her tender skin. The substance’s temperature sent shivers down her back and she twisted toward him in a shock-fueled rage. 

 

“Honey.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Are you really questioning my methods? The man that works with fire everyday and has for most of his life? Don’t you think if anyone knows how to fix a burn it’s me?”

 

She blinked, feeling rather stupid. “Will it hurt?"

 

“It shouldn’t,” Gendry gave, shaking his head. Effortlessly he returned to his task and like Arya’s father had once done, he began talking to her as he treated her wounds in an attempt to distract her from the spike in pain that always occurred right before the healing. “Might sting a bit but it’ll take away the heat and soften the skin.”

 

“Alright,” she nodded resolutely. “Go on then.” 

 

He had already continued and was now moving on to her second arm. Arya’s fingers were as clean as he’d ever seen them and sitting before him in just a nightgown Gendry struggled to focus on the inflamed skin he was meant to be tending to. He could smell her too, somewhere above the sweet scent of honey in the air was the faintest note of lavender and fig. The mere acknowledgement of such a scent had him transported back to their night in the grain stores. 

 

“Give it a bit,” Gendry finally said as he broke from his recent reverie. “It’ll start to settle in.”

 

Arya looked to where he was pushing the cork back into the small pot of honey as if dismissing it from its task. “To my skin?” Her voice sounded offended, causing Gendry to chuckle. 

 

“Where else?” he joked. 

 

“Wait—”

 

“What?”

 

“There’s a...I don’t know if it’s a burn but...on my shoulder...”

 

Gendry paused. “Can I see?”

 

“Hand me your shirt.”

 

“What? I’ve seen—”

 

“Hand me your shirt,” Arya stated just as strongly. 

 

He complied and while the rough linen was pulled over his head Arya took the opportunity to observe him: the same muscles she’d watched grow flexing to provide her comfort - the same muscles that had only moments ago prompted a touch that was as gentle as she could imagine. The item being handed to her had Arya’s eyes traveling from the patch of hair below Gendry’s navel back up to his eyes. 

 

Arya swallowed as she turned away again. The honey on her arms was sticky but the cool air coming in off the ocean provided for a calming contrast and as the salve began to dry Arya found it easier to move, first untying the lace that kept her shift secure upon her chest. With the garment loosened it fell down off her shoulders but before Gendry could notice the injury covering most of her back, he saw the swell of her breasts disappearing beneath a shirt — his shirt. He swallowed and suddenly he felt like a teenager, like the same teenage boy that once lusted for her at Harrenhal when he had far more to be concerning himself with, the most important being their survival beyond the cursed castle.

 

“Well?”

 

Gendry looked down and found that if it weren’t for the width of Arya’s hips the chemise would have fallen away completely, even in her seated state. He cleared his throat before returning his attention to the area in question. A large gash spread from the middle of her back, up toward her right shoulder. It was mostly scarlet, with vermillion veins spreading unevenly between purple blotches that stained her normally milky complexion into somewhat of a constellation. Whirls of intermingling bruising and blisters all fought against one another to heal. Around the wound was a darker ring of almost black skin. Patches nearby were raw while others were dry and peeling. It was the ugliest of masterpieces and the sight of it applied a prick of pain to Gendry’s eyes. He cleared his throat and sat up, willing himself not to cry.

 

“It’s not...I don’t know if...some of it’s a burn but some of it’s a gash...like blood under the skin,” he explained. “What happened?”

 

“I don’t even remember. There was this wall but...I woke up and everything was dark. There was...I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“Then we won’t talk about it,” he agreed, almost in relief. Quickly he was uncorking the jar and with the same faint touch he painted her back with soft swirls of honey. Then, when Arya thought he was done, he leaned forward, not to re-cork the bottle but to blow on the raw skin. She felt all of him close — too close — as he breathed out upon her bruises and scars, willing them to disappear. It was her turn to cry but instead she looked away. 

 

Still holding Gendry’s shirt to her chest, Arya sniffled and wiped at her nose as she began to clutch the linen to her stomach in an attempt to bury the sob that escaped from her throat.

 

“Arya…” Gendry tried to mollify, his voice in a panic. “It’s okay...”

 

“I was so scared.”

 

He leaned forward but did not touch her. “Arya, you’re okay. It’s...it’s over with.”

 

Arya redistributed her weight and moved so she was facing Gendry again. Her bent knee was practically in his lap and if she shifted, all of her mass would have fallen to him. She remained upright but only barely. “I just keep seeing them. Everyone. These poor people that didn’t care about kings or queens. They just wanted to live their lives in peace. They wanted to take care of their families. They just wanted to be left alone.”

 

“Alright, love...”

 

Arya wept at his softness. “I don’t remember ever crying this much. Why can’t I stop?” she whined as she wiped at the tears that fell with a frustrated palm. 

 

“It doesn’t make you weak. You’ve been strong for so long. It’s okay to...it really is.”

 

Soon she was quiet. His voice and the innocent touch he shared with her had a calming effect. For the first time in weeks, despite the injuries and her pain, Arya felt safe and things felt right. This was the only kind of alone she wanted — alone with him. 

 

She picked her head up from his chest and with doe-eyes resisted the urge to reach out and touch his cheek. “You’ll stay?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“With me. Tonight.” For a brief moment her eyes gestured toward the bed. 

 

“Oh, I...”

 

Her brows furrowed. “Or not.” She leaned back, returning to her upright position beside him. 

 

“Your brother knows I—”

 

“Knows you’re here right now?”

 

“No. Not at all. Hopefully not.”

 

“Hopefully not?”

 

“I shouldn’t be here, Arya. I promised him...I told him that—”

 

“What did you tell him?”

 

“I can’t stay in here.” Then: “I don’t want to push it.”

 

“Okay.” Her tone was bitter and biting, causing Arya to stand and go to the fire. If she hadn’t burned through them she would have tossed in a log and reveled in the sparks that flew up. She was doing her best to get reacquainted with the heat and smell and sight of flame. Once upon a time it had brought her great comfort; some of her best moments happened before fires, the most recent being their reunion in the forge at Winterfell. But Dragonstone was not Winterfell and it was positively too warm in this room. Be it the temperature or something else, it was difficult to breathe. 

 

“Arya don’t be mad at me.”

 

“I’m not,” she confirmed. She was back to the featherbed now. Without warning she tossed his shirt at him and quickly worked to re-tie her nightgown into place. Any nakedness was concealed by her clear hurt and Gendry was speechless, unsure of how to proceed. All the while her scent lingered on his shirt which he was hesitant to put back on. Stains of honey and even some faint traces of blood marked the cotton. It didn’t feel like the fabric was his anymore, especially as Arya looked foreign in her nightdress. Suddenly he missed her breeches and jerkins. He missed seeing a sword at her hip. 

 

Gendry stood and sighed. Despite his reluctance he did toss his shirt back over his head. He even tucked it in to his breeches. Arya, he reminded himself, didn’t truly know the world outside her chambers and how his mere existence beside her was a threat to both of them. Then again she was always blind to social etiquette. It was one of the many reasons he...

 

“I’ll see you in the morning?” Gendry asked, now with a hand to the door’s latch. 

 

“Will you?” Her arms were crossed over her chest in a way that banished all the progress they’d made together, applying honey to her broken skin and waiting for it to dry. 

 

“Arya, please...”

 

Gendry didn’t know when it had happened but she was standing in front of him now, using the same curled metal his hand rested upon to tug the heavy wooden door open. She did so without regard for their state, as if the knights outside don’t exist anymore. Gendry stood corrected: this room  _ was _ its own little world. And Arya knew the world outside quite well; she just  _ didn’t care.  _

 

“Goodnight, Gendry.”

 

He didn’t know what his response was or even if he had responded at all. Soon he was standing back in the hall with nothing but the sound of the door slamming behind him as company. The corridor was vacant and Arya’s knights were gone. 

 

~!~ 

 

Gendry’s journey back to his room was a slow but deliberate one. He had lied to Jon upon arriving and did so without a second thought in the hopes that it would aid Arya in her recovery. Now he had pushed away the same girl he wanted to help, and all for the King he had lied to. 

 

Getting back into his room his own body felt sore and his feet felt heavy. He tossed off the dirty shirt and made no motion to set it upon the nearby chair as he had the previous nights. It remained in a mass on the floor as he headed for bed, his face freshly washed and one last image in his mind of the waves crashing on the shore in the distance, beyond the walls of the castle. 

 

He peeled back his sheet, ready to collapse when a knock sounded at the door. It was hollow and faint but it had him stiffening. The candle beside his bed flickered as a gust of wind invaded the tiny space. Compared to Arya’s chambers this was almost a jail cell. Compared to what he was used to it was lavish and he was grateful. 

 

Gendry rolled his shoulders then slowly released the heavy door from its frame, causing it to creak open. Arya stood outside, her shift covering her body and a cloak wrapped around her shoulders. Gendry stepped aside, not thinking once about the sense that had put them in this situation, only concerning himself with her presence right outside his bedroom door. He could only be so smart around her before his feelings overshadowed his grip on reality. The roles were reversed now; she had kicked him out and now demanded to be let in. 

 

He latched the door and turned around. All he saw was her blanket on the ground, in a perfect halo beside the same stained shirt that previously concealed her. Without an explanation or an apology, she was getting into his bed. 

 

“Arya...”

 

Already she was on her side, her nose only inches from the stone wall as she showed him nothing but her back. Her shift fell off her shoulder, revealing the same skin he had tried to heal. “I didn’t have nightmares the first night you came,” she whispered, almost breathlessly. “For the first time since...everything.”

 

“I—”

 

“Don’t touch me. I just need to...it was nice and I want that again so I’m staying here and I’d like you to be okay with that.”

 

Although she couldn’t see him, Gendry nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

 

Arya pulled up the scratchy wool blanket that laid atop the sheet she rested beneath. The same air he’d used to soothe her wounds was given to the nearby candle, cloaking the room in darkness with nothing but the light of the moon to guide him toward the bed. There was no option with his broad frame and the already too-small bed, for Gendry not to be pressed into her. Sleeping on his side made sense but he couldn’t touch her; she had insisted he didn’t. She was also already asleep and when he woke the next morning she was gone, just as quick as she’d come. It felt like a dream, the worst kind that had him wishing he'd never fallen asleep in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’m the worst and I’ve been obsessing over this modern Gendrya story I have in my head. I really want to write it *but* I told myself I needed to finish this first AND I’m only going to post it if people care? So basically you should review so I can finish this current Gendrya story that I believe in and love and then can start a new story that I also believe in and love. That totally makes sense, right?
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading!!! xx


	5. Tongues and Hands and Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH. MY. GOD!!! Seven ACTUAL Hells! The last chapter received the most reviews I’ve ever gotten on a single chapter in all my fic-writing career. Holy moly. I’m still so amazed AND HONORED. And did I mention they were THE BEST reviews that I will totally respond to (whether you like it or not.)?
> 
> I’m a girl of my word and support absolutely motivates me to crank out quality chapters as quickly as possible so here we are! I’m hoping this trend continues! I spend my weekends out of the city/up at the lake so writing is sometimes difficult but reviews will be lovely encouragement to brainstorm and come back on Monday, ready to post again. 
> 
> Ya’ll are FIRE and I appreciate it so, so much!
> 
> x. Elle

Her body was gone but Gendry could smell Arya in his sheets. When he rolled over and groaned to curse the empty space beside him, every part of her flooded his senses. He didn’t know when she’d left but he surmised it had to have been well into the middle of the night. The fire in his room had turned grey and cold and the moon above the Keep was still high over the shoreline which the high-tide had pushed farther up the sea wall than it had been only hours before. 

 

Gendry hadn’t fallen asleep right away. For one, Arya’s proximity limited his space and with her asking him not to touch her he did his best to keep a considerable distance between the two of them. This meant that his back ached as he sat up in bed from the way his spine supported all of his weight while he spent the night leaning away from her. Ironically enough though, when Gendry had stirred, maybe an hour and several more later, Arya had her hand pressed to his chest and her face buried in his shoulder. He was sweating but she didn’t seem to mind and he certainly wasn’t going to move her. She wanted to be here, he reminded himself and he had come to this very castle to be a steady presence for her. Even in their strife they were just what the other needed. Even in the silence, Arya knew how much Gendry cared for her and he, similarly, had a heart that broke at the mere consideration that Arya could even dare to think him leaving her room had anything to do  _ with her _ . 

 

Gendry washed up as best he could before taking a freshly laundered set of breeches and a rather soft tunic out into the hallway with him. He paused, wondering if he could make it up to Arya’s chambers without incident. The knight that stood outside his door last night (Gendry had seen the shadows) was clearly back at his post with his counterpart. Gendry did not travel up the steps but at a certain point descending them he caught a glimpse of light filtering out from beneath Arya’s door. He almost wished it had been dark. He knew now she hadn’t been sleeping and that was all he wanted for her on most days: rest and calm and safety. 

 

“Lord Gendry!” 

 

It was still so foreign to be called upon and now to be called upon with a title Gendry didn’t feel he deserved. Even so he looked toward the voice to find a teenage girl walking his way, her hips swaying in the same way her voice almost sang as she offered him a cup of coffee.

 

“Oh, no, I—” Gendry stammered as he raised his hand to show his hesitance. 

 

“Don’t be offensive now, lad,” the maid drawled as she leaned in. “You’re a Lord. This is what Lords do.”

 

“Drink coffee?”

 

“Yes. In the mornings. And other expensive spirits in the afternoon.”

 

“Just because I can do something doesn’t mean I care to,” Gendry asserted, already beginning to walk around the woman.. She slumped as her eyes and body twirled to follow. Her usual charms had failed her and her mind spun as she tried to remember the last time she’d been rejected.

 

“Will you come to the feast tonight?” she called out.

 

Gendry was already to the gatehouse, ready to descend the steps and ultimately disappear. “Probably not,” he called back. The last feast he’d attended had resulted in his legitimization. That same night also ended with a naked Arya pressed to his side. Could he maybe have one without the other this time?

 

The maid with the coffee was easily forgotten as he toddled down the steps of the ramparts before disappearing onto the beach completely. It was effortless from there for him to hide away in one of the island’s caves where the night’s rain and wind created pools of rather warm ocean water. Gendry stripped and began to bathe, doing as he’d often done when he still lived in Flea Bottom, sneaking to the beaches of King’s Landing almost every night to rid himself of the grime and oil that stained his skin in the forge. This was different though; he had cleaned up after the previous day’s work. Gendry did not want coffee or a feast, he only wanted solitude and silence. If Arya wasn’t by his side he didn’t care much for attention or for being surrounded by crowds at all. Surely that was a requirement for a Lord, to enjoy being greeted by those loyal to you. He wasn’t cut out for that life, the reality of which weighed down on him with more intensity each passing day.

 

Cool, fresh skin was covered by the breeches he’d brought where he then tucked in his tunic despite the beads of water still coating his skin. It felt almost foolish to be so clean as he walked back toward the forge but his mind seemed to have cleared. He didn’t think of the maiden with the coffee or the breakfast he forfeited on his way out of the Keep. He thought only of Arya and how he’d focus on his work in an attempt to speed up the day, bringing him that much closer to seeing her. If only she had let him touch her last night, things would feel more secure now. He wanted to see her but perhaps she was officially done with him. She was the strongest person he knew; he wouldn’t have been surprised if last night was a goodbye and today Arya was resolving to face the world with a new face as if their reunion never happened at all.

 

He pounded at a single sheet of iron coated wood, preparing the softened metal for its addition to the grille. The portcullis he had started only two days ago was nearly complete now and despite its weight, Gendry could somehow lift it on his own, bringing it from one end of the smithy to the other as its needs changed. He had ordered some of the men to sand down the pointy ends while others installed rivets to reinforce each iron strip. Gendry had made many of these so all of this was second nature. When their work seemed shoddy or the men insisted on taking a break, Gendry easily stepped in to take over. This was where he was currently, hammering a bit of iron so he could grind it down to the proper angle.

 

Behind him, the men passed around a loaf of bread and a single bowl of lukewarm stew. Between them they managed to acquire a single pitcher of wine. It was hardly a desirable lunch but it was well deserved all the same. If Gendry had wanted to go back to the castle for a meal, he could have but he didn’t feel as if he fit in either place. Besides, he was bringing Arya food later and he assumed he’d just eat with her then.

 

“Hey Gendry!”

 

“Lord Gendry,” Umfrey corrected the smith. 

 

“Right, Lord Gendry,” the teenage boy returned simply. “Have you seen the Princess? She’s still here, right?”

 

Gendry didn’t bother to turn to the boy and address his nonsensical question. He pretended not to hear him over the pounding of metal, a likely story considering his hammering had increased in speed and volume. . 

 

“Sad what’s happened to her,” Umfrey added in subtle support of the North. 

 

“Pretty girl too,” another older man chimed in.

 

“The crazy ones usually are.” 

 

“You think she’s pretty?” The instigator asked, seeming genuine in his question as he waited for an answer. “Because I thought she was kind of weird looking but maybe it was all that ash.”

 

The older man laughed. “From what I  _ remember _ she is a pretty girl. They say she’s mouthy though.”

 

“I could shut her up,” the sly boy commented, causing Gendry to still his hammer and begin listening again, this time without interruption. 

 

“Oh, piss off!” Umfrey called out, pushing the boy away. 

 

The teenager only laughed. “I could. I  _ would _ if given the chance.”

 

“You’re full of shit!” 

 

Gendry threw down his hammer, causing the steel shavings all around them to splinter off in an attempt to escape. “Why am I the only one working?” he bellowed, taking in the group. 

 

“We...sorry. We were just—”

 

“Don’t!” Gendry insisted with a hand raised. “And keep your mouth shut about the Princess. It’s none of anyone’s business what she does or what happens in that family. They’ve gone through enough.”

 

“We all have,” the older many reminded. 

 

Gendry nodded. “You’re right. So have some respect.”

 

Umfrey looked down and began swinging his feet off the bench as if to display an innocence. “Sorry.” 

 

“Good. Get back to work.” He reached down to pick up his hammer. His earlier work, lifting the iron grille from surface to surface had him almost looking comical, carrying an object that seemed to light in comparison. It was a harrowing view: Lord Gendry trudging toward the castle, his face red and bothered and his war hammer in his hand. For the people of King’s Landing that knew his father, the similarities between the young man and the King were endless. Before he had let the world turn him fat and bitter and rude, Robert was once a strong-willed Baratheon boy that wanted nothing more than to win the heart of the tomboyish Stark girl. 

 

That same Stark girl watched the display and had been for many minutes now. She’d gotten out of her own bath and with nothing but a flannel to dry herself off she stood close to the fire and allowed gravity and heat to aid in the process. She was nearly dry by the time Gendry passed directly below her, several floors down where he disappeared into the Keep and no doubt began to head for his room. If she weren’t naked, and still slightly hurt, she would have joined him there. 

 

_ Later _ , she thought, her mind hopeful despite his once broken promise. 

 

A knock sounded at the door and Arya nearly jumped. Looking down to her towel she realized that her skin was no longer marked by water droplets. She wondered how long she’d been standing there, no longer looking out onto the smithy as her mind drifted to the conjured images of Gendry undressing. If anything, it was a good sign. She didn’t hate him so much that she didn’t find him attractive; she was almost wholly convinced that would never be possible. It was also comforting to have such a craving. So much of her feelings recently were plagued with nothing but self-loathing and regret and guilt. He was her one happy thought.

 

“Arya?”

 

It was him. 

 

“Hold on!” she called back, now scrambling to grab for a tunic and breeches. “Come in!”

 

Her voice was chipper. Gendry let himself in and backed his frame into the door to shut and latch it. He turned around to place the tray he held on the nearby chest. When he turned back he saw nothing but Arya’s naked backside, then even more of her as she leaned over to step into her breeches. 

 

“Arya…”

 

“I couldn’t exactly have you standing in the hallway,” she said simply and with a shrug as she tightened the buckle at her waist. 

 

“I’ll turn around.” 

 

Arya snickered. “Why on earth would you do that?” Another question swam in her mind and nearly bubbled out of her throat when she felt the way his eyes couldn’t help but to burn a hole into the space below her breasts where long scars marked her complexion. Why hadn’t he approached her? Why hadn’t he backed her into the wall and taken her right there? Arya needed his bravery now. Then maybe she could be brave too. 

 

“Right, uh, peace offering?” he mumbled, gesturing to the tray of freshly cut chicken and carrots. A stem full of grapes rested off the plate and nearby a slice of dark loaf bread with a thick pad of butter. 

 

Arya was wearing her tunic now and she tucked the salmon colored cotton into her breeches as she walked back to him. “I was naked. You brought food,” she purred, nearly in his face. “I’d say it’s a peace offering.”

 

Gendry had no other option but to watch. In the stillness, Arya grabbed for the tray. She set it down on the edge of her bed so she could grab a thick fur from the trunk at the end of the bed’s frame. “We used to do picnics indoors...my mother and Sansa and me. The winters were sometimes so frigid we couldn’t go outside for weeks. Everything was frozen over. Father joked that it made breathing hard because everything around Winterfell was dead. Mother reminded him that all of the forest was just sleeping. So the forest slept and we pretended to have small feasts on the floor in my mother and father’s solar.”

 

She sat down and grabbed for the tray, ready to dig in. When Gendry remained standing, shadowing her, Arya looked to him. “Aren’t you going to join me?”

 

“We don’t have to,” he insisted nervously. “I just came to bring you food. Jon is stubborn and I don’t want...I’m just glad you’re eating.”

 

Arya swallowed the carrot she’d consumed. “Which one is that?” she asked, pointing to the book he had in his hands. 

 

Gendry blinked, waiting for her to understand. She must have because she giggled and reached forward to grab for the bound pages out of his hand. “The Divine Comedy,” she read, because he could not. 

 

Gendry gave in, sitting down but keeping a fair distance between them. He was still caught on the sight of Arya, naked and proud. Just last night she had told him not to touch her and now her actions almost begged the opposite. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Or maybe she was teasing him. If that was the case, it was working and it was calculated and cruel as the world had taught Arya to be. She was brilliant and he was terrified. 

 

“What’s it about?” Gendry finally stammered, pointing to the book’s cover. 

 

“I don’t know,” Arya shrugged. She took the tray from her lap and moved it to his. She then snatched the book from his grip and began to flip through the pages. “We’ll find out together.” 

 

~!~

 

Time passed. Hours, minutes, days — neither Arya or Gendry were aware when the time they shared was so intimate. Laughter surrounded them as Gendry fumbled through basic words but Arya’s patience and sometimes comical encouragement had them getting through most of the poem’s first section. He had a much more basic grasp on reading than he had let on. Arya found his motivation to read, whatever it was, to be rather endearing. 

 

“This is embarrassing,” Gendry finally groaned. He rubbed at his face, causing the book in his lap to shut. 

 

Arya didn’t seem to mind. She grabbed for it and held it in her hands, not bothering to find where they’d left off. “It’s not. You picked a really difficult one.”

 

“I didn’t really pick. It was the only thing I could find. Only book or paper in this whole castle.” 

 

Arya smirked. Her lips were upturned and her eyes turned soft as she began to study his features. He was stunned by the look she was giving him and he swallowed, causing Arya’s eyes to avert themselves. When her gaze returned she breathed out, then simply asked:  “Do you think I’m crazy?”

 

It was almost as if she’d heard his conversation with the other smiths. But that was impossible. Especially because he hadn’t even known she’d been watching. 

 

Gendry cleared his throat and shifted to straighten his posture so he could lean into her. His stance was casual even if his voice was not.  “What? No. Of course not.”

 

“You haven’t…” Her voice faded to nothingness. Her eyes were also cast down like a child who’d been caught in a lie. Finally though, she looked up. “Why haven’t you tried to kiss me?”

 

Gendry’s brow furrowed. “What?”

 

She sighed and tried again. “Why—“

 

“Because you’re...I don’t know,” he stated strongly. “I didn’t think you wanted that right now. It just didn’t feel right.”

 

Arya leaned back and stared at the fireplace. “Okay,” she nodded. 

 

Gendry only moved closer, his hands on her knee threatening to take her hands in his so he could sooth her tired skin. “I need you to talk to me, Arya. I want to help but—”

 

“Nothing felt right before you got here…” There it was, bubbling out, the truth and so much pain Arya had hid from the rest of the world. “I wanted to die. Then you show up and I feel like I can finally breathe. I meant what I said last night. I feel safe and calm when you’re here. Things make sense. Do you know how terrifying that is? That one person can influence my happiness?”

 

“Arya...”

 

“It just feels like you don’t want me.”

 

Gendry smirked. “I promise you that’s not the problem. I was trying to be respectful. I figured I’d let you decide where we are.”

 

She nodded and once again turned to glare at the wall. Her features were altogether emotionless. Then, without warning, she moved, turning around as if she was ready to push off the ground and stand. Instead she kneeled before him and then, with as much confidence as he’d seen since arriving to Dragonstone, she draped one knee over his lap so all of her was straddling all of him. The last time they’d been like this he had been inside of her. Now it was nothing but heat as she cupped his cheeks and waited, admiring his strong features. His hands were immediately to her back, keeping her close but waiting. 

 

“Is this okay? If this is where I want to be?” she explained.

 

Gendry nodded. He was cut off before he could say anything. Her mouth was warm and wanting, instantly upon his with an urgent hunger. She wanted his lips to banish her sadness and when Gendry tasted the salt of a single tear that cascaded down Arya’s cheek, he dedicated himself to that very task. 

 

Together there was a rhythm — a push and a pull as they both tried to give as much as they craved to take. Gendry bucked up into Arya, attempting to stunt the way he wished to turn her to her back and take her right there on the floor of her chambers. She must have had a similar idea because she rolled off of him onto her back. Her hands on his neck brought him curling into her, covering her petite form with his broad frame as the pair shared another passionate kiss. It was all tongues and hands and  _ fire. _ Arya didn’t want it to end but she was breathless beneath him and overflowing with too many things she wanted to say to him but still never could. At least not tonight. 

 

“I missed you,” she said instead. “Missed this.”

 

“Me too. So much,” he nodded with one last kiss to her swollen lips. 

 

“I thought you didn’t want me.”

 

“I always want you, Arya. Things are just...complicated.”

 

Her fingernails raking at his scalp and her feeling safer than she knew was possible, Arya nodded. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! It means a lot to me! xx
> 
> (So the rating might be bumped to M at some point in the very near future. Go off, I guess...)


	6. Forgiving You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rainy weekend means I was back to the city earlier than I expected and could therefore write/post earlier than I expected. Thanks to all for the overwhelming show of support last chapter. Enjoy this one! xx
> 
> **Note: This chapter contains a few subtle book references. I don't think it's even necessary to point out because they're so minor but just in case...

They had many afternoon picnics - and morning and evening picnics too. Gendry escaped the smithy as much as he could, dodging questions and stares from men who had long ago written him off. They knew now, or they had guessed, the extent to which he visited the Princess. He was far too happy to just be attending meetings and taking meals and naps in the Keep. Even Umfrey thought better of inquiring. In a way it was all a bit unbelievable; a bastard blacksmith and Arya Stark — the girl who killed the Night King and saved the Seven Kingdoms. If Umfrey had inquired, Gendry would have agreed with him. Even these stolen moments in Arya’s chambers felt surreal. He wondered if he met his death on the journey southward and instead of being sent to bare witness before the Gods he was stuck in purgatory with Arya, shut up in a too-hot room where kisses were shared in an effort to cover up all they still could not say to one another and to the rest of the world.

 

But sometimes Arya laughed and it was such a beautiful sound, Gendry forgot about all the pain outside the door that shielded them. Somehow her presence at his side made it so that all the rest of the world melted away. He knew what he should want, not only for himself but for them, but the risk of losing moments like this in search of it had his chest feeling tight and his eyes pricked with tears. He was learning not to want for much; they were alive — _she_ _was alive_ — and that was all that mattered. 

 

The food they always shared helped, and today the wine helped too. Their usually raucous banter was thankfully covered up by a steady beat of rain on the stone walls outside. The fire had long ago died and it was nothing but Arya and Gendry sitting on the cool floor, their backs perched up against the large metal chest at the foot of Arya’s bed and their feet bare as they passed a mostly-empty canteen of wine back and forth. 

 

“Do you remember...the time…” Arya managed, mostly stunted by her need for oxygen and not the actual laughter spilling off her lips, “when Hot Pie fell down toward that stream?”

 

“Yes!” Gendry agreed, just as animated as he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “And you just stared at him, waiting for him to get up!”

 

“He was being annoying! We had been walking for quite some time!” she reminded, all before hiccuping. In horror she clapped a hand over her traitorous mouth as her eyes went wide. 

 

Gendry placed a hand to his belly as if to calm the pain that existed there from laughing so much. “You gave me this look of disgust...like a warning—”

 

“I did! If you helped him, it would have been your arse down in that creek.”

 

Gendry took another swig of the wine before passing it back to her. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”

 

Arya let out an uneven breath then took a long sip of the wine. The canteen was light now, signaling carelessness and a profound loss of time. “Feels like that was forever ago.”

 

Gendry looked to her, nodding. “Yeah. It does, doesn’t it?” He grabbed for the canteen she handed back to him but he did not move to drink it. “Can I...can I ask a question?”

 

“You can. I can’t promise an answer.”

 

“Of course not.”

 

“Well then…” she gestured, as if inviting him to speak. 

 

Gendry leaned his head back against the chest. “I worried about you, you know. After I left.”

 

“I worried about you too.”

 

“No, I worried about you the way a man worries about a woman. You can’t worry about me this way.”

 

Arya blinked. Without the canteen she shifted easily, altering her weight so she was closer and her body was more relaxed as it leaned into his. All the while worry defined her features, shown most significantly in the severe kink in her forehead as one eyebrow quirked in steady retreat of the other. “What are you saying?”

 

“Girls are…”

 

Arya’s eyes narrowed. “Abused?” She heard what he could not say:  _ defiled, tortured, raped.   _ “I wasn’t,” she assured quickly.

 

“Good.”

 

“Would you have me if I was?”

 

Gendry looked to her, his vision narrowed in an almost pained way. “What? Of course I would.”

 

Arya shrugged and took a swig or the alcohol. “It’s a valid question.”

 

“It’s not. It’s...not.”

 

“I can take care of myself, you know.”

 

“What men do to women has nothing to do with...never mind.”

 

Arya straightened out her posture but looked to where her hand held her weight off the floor. “No, you’re right. You are. Sansa...”

 

“I heard.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“It was nothing compared to that. I mean, I can’t imagine and I won’t imagine but that thing...with the Red Woman...that wasn’t—” 

 

“No?”

 

“No. I was stupid enough to think that it was. I learned quickly that it was not. It’s my fault. A pretty lass and good wine…”

 

Arya hid a smirk in her shoulder. Gendry paused but joined her, appreciating her ability to see past the uncomfortable when humor or hope was needed most. “I’m sorry,” she managed anyway, pushing an inconvenient giggle down. 

 

“I’m not just saying that. I told you there were three before you and there were and she doesn’t count. What she did...it wasn’t okay.”

 

Things were serious again and Arya nodded. “I know.”

 

“I was humiliated. I survived but I didn’t know—”

 

“I didn’t either. I’m sorry…” She reached out to touch his hand but before she could Gendry was grabbing for the canteen to take a sip. How any wine existed in the leather bag was beyond comprehension but both seemed to be thankful for the alcohol. It was a welcomed companion when navigating the difficult. 

 

“What about you and Edric?”

 

Arya looked up. “Edric? Ned?” she clarified in a higher pitch. “Ned Dayne? What about us?”

 

“He fancied you.”

 

Arya shrugged. Then she scoffed. “Good for him.”

 

“I thought you liked him.”

 

“I didn’t. I don’t. If I did...I don’t,” she settled, mostly annoyed. “Who were the three?”

 

“Whores.”

 

“Great.”

 

“You asked.”

 

“I know I did,” she laughed and grabbed for the bottle back. Putting her mouth to the glass she drank, draining the remaining contents into her mouth. She swallowed, then spoke, leaving her words to sound hurried and breathless. "I'm glad too."

 

"That you asked?"

 

"That they were whores."

 

Gendry snorted. "Oh yeah?”

 

"Easy competition."

 

"Yeah, your bed is nicer. Beds, really,” he said, eyes rolled back as if to point to the featherbed only steps away. “This one's not bad either..." he explained. 

 

Arya hit him with her shoulder and the two swayed in search of their previous equilibrium. Then she leaned in and they were kissing: slow and long, then fast, until their minds were dizzy from the contact. If a knock hadn’t sounded at the door, Arya would have straddled Gendry just as she had that night over a week ago. It was one of their favorite positions: his weight supporting her while he donated his strength to her in a fierce swirl of tongues and tentative hands. But they were always interrupted, lately by Gendry’s own sensibility. Tonight, however, it was not his reassuring hands pushing her away. Tonight Gendry looked just as irritated as Arya did to find their mingling would be cut short. 

 

Both were slow to look to the door but when another knock pounded, Arya jumped up and moved toward the room’s entrance. All the hesitance she had honed, protecting herself in the days and weeks prior to Gendry’s arrival, was long gone, banished with the nightmares she hadn’t had since he began sleeping by her side. It also helped that the knock was familiar, or rather, it existed rarely and was therefore immediately identifiable. Only two people would dare knock on Arya’s door and one of them was already inside, watching now as Arya tiptoed to the door to release it from its jamb. 

 

"Yes?"

 

Jon blinked. "Seven Hells…”

 

"What? You knocked."

 

"I...I did. You're...dressed."

 

Arya looked down then back up before giving in to a casual shrug. "I get dressed sometimes." Her cheeks rouged as she remembered just how undressed she'd been the day prior when her and Gendry fought over an apple and their scuffle ended with exposed skin, sticky with the juicy sweetness of the fruit. 

 

"Did you hear what I said?"

 

Arya blinked. Clearly she had not but she looked up to Jon as if to feign interest. "Hmm? Sorry?"

 

"I want you to come to dinner."

 

"Absolutely not." 

 

"Will you let me finish?"

 

Arya sighed out through her nose. "You breathed. You finished."

 

"Dinner in my solar," Jon clarified. 

 

"Who will attend?"

 

"You," Jon's voice was strong. "Just you and me."

 

Arya thought for a moment. "Alright."

 

"We need to talk."

 

This had her inhaling, sharply, and almost regrettably. "Alright.”

 

"Great."

 

Arya paused a beat and nodded. "Great."

 

"Fine," Jon exhaled. "An hour."

 

Arya did not respond, she just shut the door, dismissing Jon and their awkward interaction as if he was not the King and she was not, by default, a Princess. If either had it their way, that was how things would be. In another world they’d be back in Winterfell. In another world, they would have never left in the first place.

 

Gendry immediately stood and walked toward where he had kicked off his boots earlier. Arya watched, almost saddened at the sight. "Where are you going?"

 

"To eat dinner in the smithy, apparently.” 

 

"Why? We just had—” 

 

"Wine. We had wine. And we reek with it. You should wash up."

 

Arya quirked a brow in contention. "Oh. Wow. You’re...you're scared of him. You’re scared of Jon!”

 

"I'm not scared of him."

 

"No, you are. You're absolutely scared of Jon!"

 

"Arya, be sensible! I'm not scared of Jon. I'm scared of the King. I can take Jon. Easily. I don't know if I'd be as lucky against all his men."

 

"I'll have you remember that they'd have to get through me so—” 

 

Gendry stood up, his hands on his hips. "You'd play knight, then?"

 

Arya smirked. "If I had to."

 

"I'll not have you defend my honor."

 

"Good. Then it's settled. No one needs to defend anyone's honor."

 

"Good. Then I'll get going." 

 

He grabbed for his jerkin and slid into it effortlessly. Arya found she enjoyed watching Gendry get dressed just as much as she enjoyed undressing him, even if the end result wasn’t as satisfying. 

 

Before he could escape, Arya grabbed for his wrist to still him. Gendry looked down to where her hand curled around his pulsepoint. Then, his eyes looked back to her, waiting. "An hour is an awfully long time,” she tried, her voice quiet and low. 

 

"You need it. You're drunk."

 

"I'm not." Arya shook her head slowly, her lips tacky with the taste of wine nearly sticking to his own as she moved dangerously close to his mouth. She blinked, featherlight, from Gendry’s eyes down to his lips. Slowly she was claiming his mouth and he was yielding. His weight came back to lean on one of the large posts of Arya's bed and his broad frame was like a cradle, casually keeping her upright in the softest way while Arya's tiny fists squeezed at his tunic to keep him close. 

 

When Arya finally pulled away her eyes were wide. Gendry's breath caught in his throat. He could still taste her on his tongue and she looked so beautiful like this, her heart afire and her hair a mess. "I'm finally going to tell him what I think of his Dragon Queen."

 

Gendry's vision blurred. "What?"

 

"The Queen—” 

 

"But she's not a queen anymore. She's...dead."

 

"So?"

 

"And he killed her. Because of what she did."

 

Arya took a step back. "Why are you so defensive?"

 

"Because I don't know if it's fair—” 

 

"Choose those next words wisely, Gendry."

 

"Gladly,” he tossed back as if predicting her ironic encouragement. “Though we’ve never been good at—” 

 

Arya tossed her arms heavenward. "Here we go!" 

 

"What good will it be to tell Jon now, Arya? He knows. He knows because it was his dagger that took her down. Do you think that was an easy decision?"

 

"I didn't say that!"

 

"He's...just forget it. I'm glad you're going to dinner with him." Gendry repositioned his vest and moved around her once more. 

 

Arya’s gaze and stance followed him. "Are you jealous?"

 

"Don't be ridiculous! I'm being honest. I wanted you out of this bloody room and it seems I've been successful."

 

" _ You _ wanted? Was this a plan?"

 

"Yes. A very simple one that I obsessed over on the endless journey down here. Alone.  _ Make sure Arya is okay.  _ That’s it."

 

"Me leaving my room means I'm okay?"

 

"Before I came you wouldn't open your door. That first morning...that was the first time Jon had seen you since they found you bloody outside the capital walls. I don't want credit, Arya. I couldn't give a single fuck what this means to anyone else. But yes, I very selfishly needed you okay and you're okay and I'm glad that you have a brother who wants that for you too. All I'm saying is that Jon's had his heart broken too and he hasn't had the opportunity to lock himself away in a room. He hasn't even had the opportunity to talk it over with family because you wouldn't take visitors. Maybe hear what he has to say before insulting him?"

 

Slowly, Arya smiled. She nodded too, then took a step and kissed Gendry's lips. Afterward, her grin remained. "No," she said with conviction, the same sweet smile unwavering. 

 

Gendry looked to her lips then shook his head. "You're nuts."

 

"He's my brother." 

 

"I don't have one of those. Don't have a sister either."

 

Arya pointed to the door. "Do you want me to see if I can get you an invite?"

 

"No, I want you to stop being such a pain in my ass."

 

"Unlikely odds.” 

 

"Yes. For the rest of my life, I know," Gendry huffed. He was too annoyed to see the smirk Arya wore at hearing the length of time he wished he keep her around. The thought was so lovely it distracted her. The next thing she knew, he was gripping her arms and kissing her forehead. "I don't have a family but you do and I want that for you. That's all I'm saying." He forced a smile before pushing past her. The hour she spoke of was surely almost up now. Then again, the two were never talented when it came to tracking time. Gendry was still unsure of how many hours they’d spent in her room this afternoon. The days were beginning to blur together. 

 

"Don't be rude, Gendry Waters,” Arya called out in one last attempt to keep him close. “You have a family.  _ I'm _ your family, just as you are mine."

 

Gendry shrugged. "Perhaps.” He breathed out before opening the door. “Enjoy your dinner, m'lady."

 

"Piss off." She had nothing to throw at him so she kicked at the floor instead, cursing his name as he left her in the silence she despised so strongly before his return. Their empty canteen remained uncorked on the floor when Arya finally left for Jon’s solar.

 

~!~

 

Arya was different. Jon could sense it in her presence and the proof went far beyond her willing existence in his solar, joining him for a dinner he’d barely given her time to prepare for. He hadn’t expected her to say yes but he also hadn’t expected her to open the door. Things were different for Arya and Jon appreciated her initial insistence on silence as it gave him time to asses her behavior. He smelled it on her when she walked in - the characteristic smell of grape and summer rain. She’d likely been sitting in her room, the window open to invite the rain inside as she sipped at a bottle of wine she’d undoubtedly bribed a knight to acquire for her. They did what she wanted, despite it being against Jon’s wished. He couldn’t punish them either. If he hadn’t been told that someone else was bringing Arya food, he eventually would have sent a plate up. 

 

Pretending to finish up a letter, Jon watched the way Arya stood at the long table near the window, sheathing and unsheathing all of the various swords that were laid out, as if meant for her. She hadn’t asked, didn’t inquire about their ownership or purpose, but instead took the first in her hands and began to inspect it so she could then do the same with all that followed. 

 

Her chest wasn’t bound. In an almost odd way, it was one of the first things Jon noted. He did so because there was finally something to note. Yes, his baby sister was finally a woman and likely had been for many years now. She had hidden so much of her identity away it only made sense now that she was lost, trying to get it all back. The chemise he had caught minor glimpses of when she peeked out at him through her bedroom door was replaced now by loose breeches and a soft tunic. She wore no jerkin or coat and her hair was pulled off her face in a plait that was already beginning to piece itself apart. 

 

"Gendry made these?"

 

Jon set down his quill and looked over. “Who else?” 

 

"He's the best."

 

"Yes, you'll have to tell me how you two know one another."

 

Arya looked to Jon and smirked. "He's an old friend." 

 

"He's been bringing you food."

 

"Because you haven't," she countered plainly. Her fingers ran against the strong sharp blade of one of the smaller swords. 

 

"He cares about you."

 

Arya shrugged, her fingers nearly at the sword’s tip. She applied pressure and pulled, feeling the smooth steel slide against her finger in agreement. "Perhaps."

 

"He got you to take dinner with me."

 

The sizzle of steel on steel as Arya sheathed the sword back in its holster cut into the tension between them. "He didn't get me to do anything. He doesn't even know I'm here."

 

"Why so defensive? I only mean that you've been better since he came around."

 

"Yes, well some time has also passed since then."

 

Jon sighed and moved to take a seat at the table. "Sit before things get cold."

 

Arya joined him. She pulled at her chair while she sat in it, causing the legs to scrape boldly at the floor below. "It's so bloody hot on this island I don't know if that's possible,” she complained as she moved to awkwardly grab for the nearby pitcher of ale. 

 

"Well I knew you wouldn't want additional company so I dismissed the help meaning we're left to serve ourselves."

 

Arya leaned forward to spoon some meat on her plate. "Do you think we can manage it?"

 

Jon rolled his eyes. "I hope so."

 

Things were quiet at first, with the pair talking about the weather as if they were strangers and not favorite siblings. When conversation flowed into a gradual mumur, Jon and Arya allowed the sound of metal on porcelain to fill the silence. It was welcomed by both, and all for different reasons. 

 

"They talk about me?"

 

Jon sat up. He tapped at his lips with his linen napkin before placing it back down to the table. "Hmm?"

 

"Them. The people,” Arya pointed toward the window with her fork. “They talk about me. I know they do."

 

"Did Gendry tell you that?"

 

"He didn't need to. I can feel it. Even from up here."

 

Jon shrugged. "They talk about me too. It comes with the title."

 

"I wear no title. I wear no crown."

 

"Maybe I won't forever." He shrugged again, this time accompanying his clear nerves with a strong swig of wine - wine Arya seemed to want nothing to do with. He concluded now that beyond her fascination with the artistry of weaponry, her show with the swords at the window was likely an attempt to gain sobriety. Even now she nervously chewed on the inside of her cheek instead of sipping at the ale in her chalice. 

 

"Maybe? Are you teasing or…” 

 

"Kings are usually removed from their thrones by death - natural or otherwise. What if it doesn't have to be that way?"

 

"What will you do?” Arya scoffed. “Just leave?"

 

"I'd like to think it would involve some planning. But perhaps. Most days I don't like it here anymore than you do."

 

"Would you like it if  _ she _ were by your side? If  _ she _ were in power?"

 

Jon did not concede. "I think things  _ would _ be different if things  _ had  _ been different."

 

Arya played with her food. "Aye." 

 

"I guess that's why I invited you. Beyond wanting to see you and see how you are...before I make plans I need to make sure that the people around me will be taken care of."

 

"You make it sound like you're dying."

 

"Some of the people will see if that way. They have hope now that the North reigns. They may see this as a betrayal. I have to prepare for this from all sides."

 

"You're putting yourself in danger.” It was more of an assessment than a criticism and Arya’s mouth fell open at the thought. 

 

"No more danger than I am in currently."

 

"That's comforting," Arya deadpanned into a deafening pause. "I don't need to be taken care of. Don't make any decisions based on me, Jon. Do what you think is best."

 

"I don't know what's best, Arya. I'm asking for some advice so if you could withhold the snark, I'd very much appreciate it." 

 

His request had her grinning from out behind her cup. "Isn't that what you have advisors for?"

 

"Sure. But the opinion of my family has always meant more and you know that."

 

"I don't...I don't know what you should do,” she admitted as she sat back, now with a foot on her chair as if to challenge her brother’s insistence on things being familial. He could be a King but she would never be a Princess. “I think the throne should be burned. I think we should do away with titles and lands. This idea that who we are is defined before we're even born...I have no use for it."

 

"Let's think about that then."

 

Arya groaned. "You sound like father."

 

"Well, I agree with you. But I don't think it's as easy as all of that. There has to be some form of order."

 

"Then allow each kingdom to self-rule.” 

 

"They already do. That is the job of a lord and lady."

 

"It should be the job of a group. Not a group of the wealthiest men but a group that is voted upon by the people of each kingdom.” 

 

"Votes are typically encouraged by wealth."

 

"I'm not saying it'd be easy. I'm just saying that's how it should be."

 

"Would you rule then?"

 

Arya’s throat went dry. "Why would I do that?"

 

"Because you're capable. It seems you have a lot to say and I think everyone would benefit if I wasn't the only one hearing about it."

 

"I want no ruler and I certainly don't want to rule. I don't want to advise. I don't know what I want to do."

 

Jon sat back and crossed his hands over his stomach. "I'm sending Bran up."

 

"Bran? Our brother?"

 

"Of course."

 

“What do you mean  _ sending _ ?”

 

“I’ve called for him.” 

 

"For what purpose?"

 

"To take the throne after I abdicate."

 

Arya choked. "You were serious?"

 

"As ever."

 

"What does Bran...does he want it?"

 

"He believes in its necessity. He has the temperment to respect the throne and rule the people for their benefit, not his."

 

"Does he have the mental clarity?"

 

"He has too much mental clarity. I think the task would be a nice distraction."

 

"You think being King of the Seven Kingdoms is a distraction?"

 

"For someone as brilliant as Bran, yes. He's what Westeros needs."

 

"And the North?"

 

"I'm working on that too."

 

"Have Tyrion and Davos approved of all of this?"

 

"They've been supportive."

 

"What's the timeline?"

 

"I don't...it's going to take over a month for Bran to travel. I need to start securing land and homes for everyone who was displaced. It's going to be a long process."

 

"What's my timeline?"

 

Jon blinked. " _ Your _ timeline?"

 

"You want me taken care of so I intend to care for myself. When do I need to leave?"

 

"You don't need to leave. I'd never ask that of you. You can stay in Dragonstone for as long as you'd like. Once everything is settled, you can have the bloody place for all I care." 

 

"No. I want to leave. I need to leave. I just...I'm not ready."

 

"I know. None of us are. It could take a year, Arya. There's no rush. With the way I see it, knowing you...you'll be gone before anything is finalized. I know how you work."

 

"You're right. I survive."

 

"You do. You're exceptionally good at it. I only hope that maybe it doesn't have to be like this forever. Selfishly I've liked having you locked away in your room for these past two months. At least I knew where you were. I knew you were safe. Are safe."

 

Arya shook her head. The pressure on her jaw and the hand she now had curled near her mouth  told Jon that she was closer to tears than she even realized. "You shouldn't have told me. You're right. I would have left eventually."

 

"Well then I'm glad I told you. I'd like a goodbye this time. Whenever that is. Wherever you go."

 

"I don't know where I'll go. I said that. I meant it."

 

"Think on it. An opportunity may present itself. Don't you want to be in one place for awhile?"

 

Arya blinked. She nodded, though for what she was unsure. "I have been. I don’t know how I feel about it. But you're right."

 

"I'll do what I can to help, Arya. You know you mean the world to me. I'll keep this title if you want. If that’s what you need until—"

 

"No!"

 

Jon grinned. His demeanor was slight and his presence soft. He was every bit the man who raised him, every bit the man Arya missed everyday. "You want things for me. Can't I want things for you?"

 

"Not until I know what I want." She was crying now and she did little to hide it. Even as she swiped her thumb beneath her eyelid she did not look to the tears on her skin in anger. "I wasn't supposed to make it, you know."

 

"Wh...what?"

 

"We were all supposed to die. With the Army of the Undead. Or by dragonfire. How did any of us survive this? Why?"

 

"Arya...don't...don't say that."

 

"It's true, isn't it?"

 

"It's not. And if anyone deserves to live it's you. You and Sansa and Bran. The world has taken so much from you. This is all...good. These are good things. Things are finally changing."

 

"Yes, well they were changing. They could have changed if you never bent the knee.”

 

Jon’s breath caught in his throat at the realization that Arya’s vulnerability had been banished, replaced now with anger: anger at allowing herself to show emotion and anger at those emotions now being so crippling.  

 

“I did what I did to save Winterfell!” 

 

"You're right. You did. And maybe we wouldn't have made it out if you hadn't but that crazy cunt also wouldn't have burned this city to the ground either. I don't know which I would have preferred."

 

" _ Would _ have? This one, Arya! It's the real one. And I'm sorry. I told you that. I would have told you more if you came out of your damn room!"

 

"I'm out now and now you've said it. You don't need to say it again. Am I dismissed?"

 

"You have no ruler. You can come and go as you please. You said it yourself. You will anyway."

 

Arya slammed her chair in with a force that had it teetering, threatening to topple over as she headed for the door. Jon inhaled sharply, searching for the courage needed to make one last attempt: "Will you ever forgive me?"

 

"Forgive you?" Arya nearly laughed. "For what?”

 

“For bending the knee. For falling for the Queen. For doing anything else I did that—” 

 

“You didn’t do anything,” Arya insisted, now offended that she had to. “We told you we didn’t trust her. You knew that. But we followed you because it is what you asked. What other choice did we have?”

 

“None. Neither did I. None of us did.” 

 

“You’re wrong, you know. I do want things for you. I want things for all of you...you, Sansa, Bran.”

 

“Good.”

 

“But I think we’ve all become so preoccupied with forgiving one another because we’ve been apart for so long and we want to be a family again so desperately that we’ve forgotten how important it is to forgive ourselves.” She released a steady exhale through barely parted lips. “I blame her, Jon. I don’t blame you.”

 

“It’s okay if you do. Everyone else does.”

 

“Including you. I know.” Arya reached for the door, turning the knob but keeping her hand upon the metal until she was ready. "If I makes you feel any better I've done things I can't forgive myself for. But I do forgive you. I promise." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really, really, REALLY hoping to be able to finish this chapter telling you to go check out my new fic but the day got away from me and I don’t have it up yet. The first chapter to that is almost done so once it’s complete, I’ll post it and then plug it at the end of the next 'Exhale' chapter...which is one of my favorites, by the way!
> 
> Thanks to all for reading/reviewing/leaving love of any kind! The support has been unreal and I’m so appreciative. Please keep it up! I’m so ready to give these two idiots the happy ending they deserve and the reviews/kudos are a salve to my often cynical/self-loathing soul. 
> 
> Did I mention I appreciate you?!
> 
> x. Elle


	7. Shared Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucky Number 7! **Please note the bump in rating...you’ve been warned. Enjoy!

Her world at Dragonstone felt so small when Arya first arrived and now, with doors opened, it felt vast and almost overwhelming. Even with the island emptying and everything seeming much more calm and in order, the ocean she looked out upon felt foreign. There was a life beyond it she had left behind and also a life she had yet to live and somehow, with the moon unbelievably high in the sky, Arya knew the two were one in the same. 

 

She heard the door creak open but she did not move from where she sat, a huddled mass on a stone seat just outside the very small window in Gendry’s chambers. She was enjoying feeling insignificant and she knew the moment she presented herself to him, Gendry would worship her. He always had and likely always would; every teasing remark, every trip or pinch or wrestling match on the floor of the smithy was a sign of respect. Gendry only ever wanted Arya to be Arya, the fact of which nearly had her weeping. The sky mimicked her emotions, starting to rain down in sporadic tear drops that coated Arya’s tunic in patches. She pushed back at her hairline and moved to stand. She could have jumped if she wanted to. Instead she crawled back through the small porthole and eased herself down to the floor, clearly startling Gendry who had only begun to get ready for bed. 

 

“Seven Hells,” he muttered, wearing a smile all the same. 

 

Arya smiled too, thankful the rain covered up her sadness. “You’re lucky you’re so big or else I’d be worried about everyone sneaking up on you.”

 

“The war’s won, innit? Who’d be sneaking up on me?”

 

“Me, I suppose.”

 

Gendry cocked his head to the side. He narrowed his eyes too, his vision calling her bluff before his mouth had the chance to. “What’s wrong?”

 

Arya shook her head. “Just dinner. With Jon.”

 

Gendry nodded. Arya felt the warmth of his calloused palm upon her cheek only after she realized she had leaned into his touch. Her eyes closed too, reveling in the sweet gesture - getting lost in it. 

 

“Oh,” he accepted as his thumb soothed at her cheekbone. 

 

Arya finally looked to him. “It just all feels like a lot right now.”

 

“What does?”

 

“Dragonstone. Jon being King. I wanted to get back to Winterfell. I didn’t want any of this.”

 

Gendry let out a lopsided grin. “Even me? The bastard smith?”

 

“You’re not a bastard,” Arya assured, her voice persistent, begging for him to believe her as if doing so meant he also agreed. “You were always part of my plans. Even if you didn’t want to be.”

 

Gendry took another step in. “I wanted to be.”

 

Arya looked up to him with a neck craned back. They were so close now their bodies were flush and as heat radiated off their skin their lungs fought for dominance, chests heaving in a tug of war - back and forth, back and forth. 

 

“Do you still want to be?” she asked, her voice soft. 

 

Gendry smiled. “If you’ll have me.”

 

Arya nodded. Her own confirmation was stunted as she leaned up and seized his mouth. Gendry met her halfway; he had to, he was much too tall for her to reach and the casual, trusting way Arya draped her arms over his shoulders did little to aid in increasing this proximity. It did, however, encourage the stronghold Gendry had upon the curve of Arya’s waist. His hands instinctively gripped the fabric and Arya smiled into his mouth, breaking the kiss, as she felt him tug the linen out of her breeches. 

 

“Go on,” she encouraged, even stepping back to give Gendry more leverage. A short distance separated them now, only the faintest space for Gendry to slowly pull at Arya’s shirt, the pads of his fingers ghosting against her sides as the fabric bunched and he continued to drag it up. Arya raised her hands in surrender, making his final move of gently removing the garment altogether, an easy one. Her damp hair fell back down around her shoulders, curling slightly from the salty rain that only barely kissed her head earlier. 

 

Naked before him, Arya waited. She wanted to cover herself up just as much as she wanted him to see her. It had never been like this. The first time had been somewhat awkward, fumbling and hungry. Neither of them had much time to admire one another with death feeling so close. The reality of something so long awaited was enough then. 

 

The second time was angry and rough and satisfying. She had teased him and they had argued and he had spilled his seed inside of her without apology. She had liked it too, that raw closeness. She didn’t want tenderness then. She only wanted him as she once again looked upon death, certain she could not avoid it for a second time. Like their first, their second coupling had been enough. Having him always seemed unbelievable. Now Arya wondered what emotion would fill her in astonishment’s absence. She was certain she wouldn’t die the next day and with a blind certainty she could guarantee Gendry a similar fate. They could be quiet and delicate and warm. Yes, Arya wanted Gendry to look at her as he currently was. 

 

A tentative hand reached out to cup Arya’s breast. Instantly goosebumps spread across her chest, encouraged only when Gendry’s thumb stroked at her nipple, turning the supple skin pert under his touch. Arya’s breath hitched when he reached out to touch her other breast and performed the same task there. He was cupping all of her in his hands and she wished for a moment that she had more to offer. Standing in offering in front of Gendry’s own muscled form had Arya feeling self-conscious, more than she ever had before. He was handsome and his body, like art, breathtaking at times. She was—

 

“Beautiful...” Gendry’s raspy whisper let out, interrupting her own thoughts. 

 

He leaned down to take a breast in his mouth. He kissed her skin at first, the hot heat of his mouth gentle before he began to suck, causing Arya’s mouth to fall open as she instinctively arched her back into him, craving more than she realized. When Gendry lifted his head he smiled, only to disappear again as he gave her other tit a squeeze before sucking at her nipple, his teeth dragging upon the sensitive skin when he finally detached. 

 

The firelight dried all remnants of his erotic kisses so when Arya stepped back into Gendry and grabbed at his neck to keep him close, he felt nothing but her hard chest and the sensation of her forearms moving upon his shoulders as if struggling to hold on. She gave up and Gendry thought that maybe she’d happened upon her senses. This all felt surreal and not because he figured they’d die tomorrow. It felt surreal because he knew they wouldn’t and Arya was giving herself to him anyway. 

 

Arya’s fingertip made a languid journey down the center of Gendry’s chest, into the light dusting of hair at the center of his abdomen all before coming to an abrupt stop at the top of his breeches. Her finger curled, pulling the linen away from his skin. The shorts he wore beneath his breeches came with it, hindering Arya’s bravery. 

 

“Go on,” he teased. 

 

When Arya remained still, Gendry leaned in to kiss her. It was encouragement and permission. He was asking for all the same things she wanted. 

 

Arya carefully pulled at the tie keeping Gendry’s pants up on his hips. The taut lines that curved away from his hips and disappeared beneath his breeches were more clear now. More hair and skin revealed itself with each tug until finally the ties were loose and the fabric was separated enough to begin falling off Gendry’s hips. Arya allowed gravity to take over but soon grew impatient. She used her thumbs to push his pants down, exposing him. Gendry’s cockhead dragged along Arya’s stomach as she leaned down to help him step out of the rest of his clothes. Still in bed in only her own breeches she relaxed atop the too small straw mattress. The weight of her body caused her to bounce and when she finally reached a balance, Gendry looked down at her, waiting. 

 

“I...I need a minute.”

 

Gendry grinned “Alright.” He thought she might push him away but instead she reached out to cup him, one hand fondling his balls while the other wrapped around his length. She didn’t move her fingers but instead leaned forward to taste him. The bead of precum evident on his tip vanished as Arya took the head of his cock in her mouth. It was warm and smooth against her tongue and when she pulled back the kiss she’d left behind had another bead of cum spurting out. 

 

Her confidence dwindling, Arya leaned back as if in offering. She left her breeches on but she laid flat atop the mattress, waiting until Gendry calmly did what she expected. He knelt in the space her spread legs created. He was naked and stunning. She felt inadequate, once again wanting to move her hands up to her chest to conceal her nakedness. 

 

“Can I...” His words trailed off. Arya had been so sure the past two times they were together that Gendry wondered if maybe he should have stopped all of this. But Arya nodded, her head shaking up and down with an aching urgency. She swallowed and Gendry leaned down, not caring that his length folded up between them, pressed flat to her tummy as he stole a passionate kiss. Arya’s eyes were slow to open afterward but when they did she smiled and brought Gendry’s hands to her hips. It was all the reassurance he needed and soon he was leaning back on his haunches as he dragged Arya’s pants off her legs and away. In an instant she was exposed before him, looking as beautiful as ever as the fire crackled and painted her skin in uneven flashes of orange and shadow. 

 

In an attempt to rid Arya of her fears, Gendry captured her mouth in a soft, wanting kiss. There was a slow drag away as they detached and then Gendry began his descent, kissing, nipping, and lapping at Arya’s exposed skin from her chin, down the valley of her breads, past the length of her tummy until finally his mouth was just above her center. He’d never done this before and his fingers were proof of that as he spread her cunt and began to feel around. 

 

Arya just waited, allowing Gendry the time as she silently celebrated sharing this first with him. It was silly to expect a man to have only one partner but she wanted it all the same. It was something a lady should want. It was foolish and stupid and she never thought she’d care, mostly because she never thought she’d be here, laying beneath a man whose only intention was to adore her as much as he could. This wasn’t real, a passing notion confirmed as she felt Gendry’s tongue sucking at the space he’d just revealed. Her legs twitched and fell open, giving him better access. His nose tickled at the soft hair between her legs, breathing her in as he continued his ministrations. A rhythm was established, of shared suckling and lapping. 

 

A flat tongue dragging upward upon her center had Arya releasing a strangled cry. “Gendryyyyy,” she whined while her hands scraped at his scalp, asking for more. 

 

He raised his head and grinned, his lips and chin wet with the taste of her. Arya hid a laugh behind her palm. The action was cut off when Gendry gripped Arya’s thighs and gave them a slight pull. She was flat on her back now and she blinked, wondering where he’d take her next. In the moment she trusted Gendry more than she’d ever trusted another person. 

 

“Do you—“

 

“Yes,” Arya tossed out. 

 

Gendry snickered. “You don’t know what I was going to ask.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. The answer is yes.”

 

“It’s okay like this then?” Gendry attempted, waiting for her reaction. 

 

Arya nodded anyway. “I want what you want.”

 

“I want you comfortable. We’ve never done it like this before.”

 

“I want to,” Arya reassured, now with a gentle hand to his scruffy cheek. She raised so she could kiss Gendry’s cheek and when she pulled away, she whispered: “I just want you. And I trust you.” Then: “Take me. Please.”

 

Gendry didn’t need anything else from Arya. Honestly, having her naked was enough. He could have just as easily laid down beside her and pulled her in close. He dreamed about that very act many nights when they were separated.  _ This was better though _ , he thought. 

 

Gendry lined his cock up with her entrance and slowly pushed inside. Arya dropped her head back as he filled her. His weight was pressing her into the mattress now as his elbows rested on either side of her head. Her hands once again found a lazy home around his shoulders. As Gendry bucked into Arya, and she met each thrust to increase their shared friction, the pair shared sloppy kisses. The pistoning of their lovemaking made kisses nearly impossible but they attempted anyway. Often times a sigh or a keen had their teeth clashing or their lips dragging upon one another as their hips met. Arya was especially delirious when she felt Gendry’s cock bump against a particularly sensitive spot, deep inside her. He also rolled his hips to press down on the swollen nub between her legs. 

 

Arya whined. She’d never felt like this before. The other two times they’d slept together she had felt perfectly lovely. Now she was on fire, loving the feel of his length filling her up as he grunted and sighed into her skin, trying to hold off on a similar semblance of control. 

 

“Let go,” Arya urged, as she kissed his brow. Her own show of affection was halted as Gendry gave one last thrust. She cried out and when it was silent again she noticed the streams of cum upon her tummy. Gendry’s length glistened as he flopped down beside her, his prick going limp against his thigh. 

 

“Sorry,” he murmured with a kiss to her temple. 

 

Arya smirked. “Why would you be sorry for anything that just happened?”

 

“Here,” Gendry offered, handing over his discarded shirt. Before Arya could grab for it he had swiped at her stomach to remove the proof of their coupling. She watched, almost sad to see her skin clean again. There was something rather animalistic about the way it felt when he came inside her or the way, afterward, she felt without him as his seed spilled out onto her thigh. She knew the risks and she was appreciative of his levelhead but selfishly Arya always found herself wanting more. Lately, in particular, it was as if she couldn’t get enough of him. Things had obviously been much more chaste prior to this night but their lovemaking followed suit. 

 

Gendry raised up on an elbow, his eyes boring her in as his free hand reached out to rub at her tummy. His fingers gently ran the length of her scars there and Arya leaned back, allowing him to inspect the permanently damaged skin. 

 

“They’re ugly…”

 

“What happened?”

 

“That’s for another day,” Arya said, almost pleading. 

 

Gendry must have understood because he nodded and shifted his attention elsewhere. Originally it was so him thumbs could run gentle circles on her protruding hip bone but then he was caressing her arm where all of her previous burns had started to fade. All the blisters were gone and what was left was mere patches of raised skin, some of them still warm to the touch. 

 

“Do these still hurt?”

 

Arya shook her head, causing Gendry to grin. “Not much. But they’ll scar. Just like everything else.”

 

Gendry leaned over her, looking like he was inspecting her remaining burns but the closer he became the clearer his intentions were. All was confirmed as he placed a kiss to the inside of her elbow then another to the skin just below. A smattering of kisses followed, all featherlight and deliberate. What his mouth could not soothe, his fingers did, running gently up and down the length of Arya’s arms, only stopping to grip at her shoulders for leverage as he moved further south. Goosebumps dotted her skin under his touch and when Gendry moved to lay between her thighs all of her tingled in anticipation. 

 

“Can I…”

 

Arya nodded again, this time with her head pushed flat against her pillow — Gendry’s pillow, really. 

 

“What’s the matter?”

 

“You don’t have to,” she assured abruptly. “We can just fuck again. I liked that.”

 

Gendry shifted upward to kiss her stomach, paying special attention to her belly button which he dipped his tongue inside after licking its taut edge. Even in her weakened state she was still mostly muscle and the fact turned Gendry on like no other. He was fairly certain that if Arya clamped her thighs shut around his head, she could make him lose consciousness. It was for this reason, and a few others, that he decided to tread carefully as he continued. 

 

“I liked that too,” Gendry confirmed. “But I think I liked it a bit more than you—”

 

“Don’t pretend to know what I like!”

 

Gendry snorted. “I was selfish, is all. And I’ve heard…” His hand moved south, caressing the valley that separated her thighs from her hips. “This is supposed to feel good.”

 

Arya waited, remaining still as she supported her weight back on her elbows. She looked down to Gendry in all his naked glory and wanted to chuckle. This was what she had always wanted but never knew was possible. The teenage girl she used to be, the one that couldn’t help but to consider romance as even a silly option, had loved Gendry in some capacity then. Now, a woman, she was certain she loved him. She loved him in an almost painful way because she knew now how easily he could be taken from her. Dreaming was one thing but having Gendry and losing him with the clear knowledge of what he was capable of and how much he reciprocated her feelings was different. She couldn’t lose him; wouldn’t lose him - Not again, not ever. 

 

“Arya?” 

 

She looked down. “Hmm?” 

 

Gendry wore a patient smile, one that told that perhaps he was amused as well. “Do you trust me?”

 

“Of course I trust you.” 

 

He exhaled a bated breath, causing his chest to heave as he leaned back in. Gendry used his large palms to push Arya’s legs again and when she was revealed to him more fully, he wrapped those same hands around her thighs so he could pull her further down the bed. 

 

“Oof!” Arya let out, followed by a giggle. 

 

Gendry looked up one last time, a knowing smile etched across his face before he disappeared, causing another sound to emanate from Arya’s parted lips. “Ooh...oh,” she sighed. A hand felt around the bed for a sheet to grip onto for purchase while the other skirted down her stomach to the top of his head. If she leaned forward she could keep her hand at the back of his neck, spurring him on.  _ Would he want that? _ , she wondered. 

 

She didn’t know. She didn’t have time to even contemplate it. Soon Gendry had two then three fingers inside of her, pumping in and out while his mouth suckled and lapped at the sensitive folds of her cunt. The air was filled with the melody of Arya’s keening and she struggled to catch her breath when his mouth pulsed on her clit then suddenly stopped, only to blow on the nub, causing the most delicious shiver to travel up her spine and swirl in her belly. 

 

“Relax…” Gendry ordered before licking the length of her again. He placed a hand to her stomach when her hips began to push up off the bed, instinctively bucking toward his giving mouth. Gendry could only chuckle as he continued his ministrations, all without apology. 

 

“Oh...oh, Gendry, I’m...ooh,” Arya sighed out. If she was close to a precipice she was suddenly pulled from the edge and made to calm down. Then, just when she thought he’d finished he began again, suckling her clit in the most exciting way. She was powerless to him like this and as Gendry lapped at her wetness and tasted the proof of her passing orgasm, he reached up to cover her mouth with his palm. 

 

Arya only pushed it away and boldly screamed out. “Fuck!” 

 

From between her legs, Arya felt the vibrations of Gendry’s laughter. Satisfied, he reemerged again and kissed a return-journey, up Arya’s abdomen, through the valley of her breasts, pass her clavicle and up her neck before finally claiming her lips. She could taste herself on his tongue and the thought had her flushing wet between her legs again. 

 

Exhausted, Gendry gave her one last peck before falling onto his back. Arya giggled and rolled over so she was on her stomach, her face only inches from his. “Is that how the commoners do it?”

 

Gendry chuckled. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never done that before.”

 

Arya cupped his cheek and demanded another kiss. “That was wonderful.”

 

“Better than having me inside of you?”

 

Arya rolled her eyes. “Depends.”

 

Gendry laughed. “Is that so?”

 

“I love...I like when you fuck me. But it’s different. The closeness...it makes me forget. I’m consumed by it. It’s like we’re in our own world…” She looked away. “I sound like a tosser, don’t I?” 

 

Gendry shook his head, still smiling. “You don’t.” 

 

“But that was...what you did with your mouth...and your fingers,” she lamented in adoration. “That can’t be a thing all women expect?”

 

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t know. But…” He moved to kiss her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else does or what’s normal or what’s not. We’ve never really fit into a mold, have we?”

 

Arya waited, struck by his honesty. “No, I suppose we haven’t.” She breathed out. “Thank you, Gendry.”

 

He chortled. “For getting you off? Anytime.”

 

Arya covered her head with her hands. When Gendry’s laughter died down he removed her palms to find her face scarlet and her eyes shut tight. “I always said I’d take whatever you gave me, Arya Stark, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like having control. I like you trusting me to have control. Not everyone in this world is going to hurt you.”

 

Arya blinked up to the ceiling, nodding. “I know.”

 

“Do you?”

 

Without warning a single tear began to cascade down Arya’s cheek, landing at the corner of her mouth where it would soon be joined by others. Gendry repositioned himself so he was above her, one hand touching her cheek while the other rested gently on her hip. “What’s wrong? What did I do?”

 

“The Hound, he...he told me to go. He wouldn’t let me kill Cersei and I wanted to kill him for that but I knew he was right. I’m not meant to be this hateful person—”

 

“You’re not hateful—”

 

“I have hate in me,” she assured. “Because of what I’ve seen and gone through. Because of the things my family has endured.”

 

“None of any of that was your fault.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. It all still hurts and I ignored it for a really long time. The killing felt good...if I did it now, I’m sure it still would but Sandor, he reminded me that I wasn’t built for that. I’m better than that. I can fix myself.”

 

“You’re not broken, Arya. You never have been. He shouldn’t have made you think—”

 

“He didn’t! But I am! And sometimes all I can think about is the fact that you wouldn’t come with me to Winterfell then and then I changed and the world continued to take things from me and now you’re here…”

 

“Are you wondering if things had been different if we’d be here now?”

 

“No,” she gave softly, shaking her head. “I’m wondering how you can possibly care for me now.”

 

“I—” 

 

“I know that you do,” she assured, now with both hands to his cheeks. “But with Jon tonight I realized...there’s still so much you don’t know. And I wonder if once you find out, if you’ll leave. Or if maybe me figuring all of that out will be too much for you.”

 

“It won’t—”

 

“But you can’t be sure!” Her voice was high-pitched and pained as she choked back another sob. “We can’t live in Dragonstone forever. I need to be able to leave this place eventually. It all just feels so safe right now…”

 

“That’s not a bad thing. You make me feel safe too.” 

 

Arya sniffed out a laugh. “Do you think this is what The Hound meant then? This is what I’m meant to be doing?”

 

“Fucking me?”

 

“Being with you,” she corrected as she slapped his shoulder. 

 

“I think that maybe I’m just part of your plan, Arya.”

 

“Just a part of it?”

 

“Aye.”

 

“Am I a part of yours?”

 

“Sure. Though I don’t have many plans. I planned to get you out of your room and I’ve done a decent job there. I think that when I figure out my plans, I’d like you to be a part of them.”

 

“Do you want me before? Is that okay then? Like you’ll do for me...I can help you figure out your plans?”

 

“Sure,” Gendry nodded. He leaned in to kiss her and she gratefully accepted the momentary distraction. When he pulled away, the blue in his eyes seemed darker somehow. “And maybe we can make some plans together?”

 

Arya swallowed. “Sure.” She looked up to the ceiling, as if already brainstorming. 

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a chuckle from Gendry who had moved to his side in an attempt to get comfortable. “Our first plan,” he grumbled, as he reached an arm around Arya’s naked midsection and pulled her close again him, “should be to do this in your bed as much as we can. This bed’s too bloody small.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOW! I can FINALLY promote my new story - Careful Fear and Dead Devotion. It’s a Modern AU Gendrya story with the premise: “If King’s Landing was Washington, DC…” It’s trope-city: buddy cop, falling for your brother’s best friend, roommates, secretive mutual pining...all with the typical Gendrya forbidden love/class conflict aspect. There are also a ton of references to the show so the story isn’t completely removed from canon. I’d be super honored if you checked it out and left a review! 
> 
> ALSO - I’m looking for a beta. Some of these chapters have been a bit of a mess because I’ve got so much going on I can’t give them the editing attention they need. I just want someone who can just read my chapters over before I post and make sure that I’m not missing any details that may be obvious to me but that a reader might need clarification on. It (hopefully) wouldn’t be too time consuming. If you’re interested, please let me know!


	8. Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY this took so long to get up. Thanks to all for the lovely reviews last chapter! I'm not sure this one deserves a similar response but I wouldn't mind getting one anyway :)

It was odd to think that the girl that had once disappeared in the woods so she could hide her womanhood away now stood before Gendry, bare skinned and vulnerable.

 

“What would your parents say?”

 

Arya laughed and Gendry was immediately thankful for the sound. “What?”

 

“I just mean...”

 

Arya returned to bed now carrying a cup of freshly-poured cider. She leaned across Gendry to place it on the bedside table. She was so shameless in her nudity that she didn’t care much that her breasts and toned tummy were pressed into him and she practically asked for the way Gendry reached out to grab for her waist, steadying her as she laid back down.

 

There Arya mimicked his own position, his face buried in the pillow he clutched, looking to her like she was worth more than the moon in the sky and the sun that would soon follow it in the morning. Soon Arya was on her stomach too, ignorant to the way his eyes adored her, only giggling like a true and proper girl when Gendry reached out to move her hair off her shoulder so he could see her better. From above they surely looked like children sharing secrets. That was the problem, or at least it once had been. That was the entire point of Gendry’s question.

 

“I showed you my cock,” he said, covering his red cheeks to laugh.

 

Arya scrunched her nose and joined him. “Yes, you’ve showed me your cock often, Gendry. Once tonight. Twice yesterday and the day before...”

 

He pinched her backside, causing her hips to raise from the featherbed. “I meant before. With the Night’s Watch. You wouldn’t even take a piss in front of us but you didn’t walk away when the rest of us had to.”

 

“I didn’t look!” Arya defended. Gendry raised a brow in challenge and it was her turn to cover her scarlet cheeks. “I didn’t look at anyone other than you!” she corrected.

 

“Mhm.”

 

“What do you think? I cared to look at Hot Pie? At Lommy?”

 

“You cared to look at me?”

 

“I was thirteen. I had...urges. Just like you did, I’m sure. Actually, if I remember correctly, I woke up to a few of your urges poking me in the back—”

 

“Piss off. You were...younger then. It wasn’t like that.”

 

“Was it _not like that_ in the same way you told Jon this isn’t like this?”

 

“It didn’t matter. You were highborn. You were off limits. You could have been older than me and I still wouldn’t have—”

 

“Liar.” Gendry paused and the sight of his handsome features softening had Arya’s mouth gone dry. “Your whores...was one at The Peach?”

 

“What? No!” He paused. “Why do you care? They were whores.”

 

“I hated that bitch. I didn’t know why then but I did.”

 

“Because you had seen my cock and you wanted my cock?”

 

Arya flicked the back of Gendry’s head. “I didn’t want your cock I just didn’t want anyone else to have your cock.” She breathed in, her voice suddenly small. “I didn’t know then that the two were the same.”

 

Gendry shook his head and the moment fizzled between them, the air crackling like the logs that settled in the nearby fire: comfortable and warm.

 

“What did you mean...what would my parents think?”

 

“I didn’t mean anything. I need to shut my stupid mouth—”

 

“You don’t. What did you mean?”

 

Gendry reluctantly inhaled. “I just mean...for a lady you’re quite comfortable being naked.”

 

“Are you complaining?”

 

“Definitely not. It’s how I like you best—”

 

“Is that so?” Gendry quirked a brow in acknowledgement. Arya grinned and looked away. “Are you asking what they’d think of my unladylike behavior or what they’d think of my unladylike behavior _with you_?”

 

“Is it unladylike if we’re married?”

 

Arya swallowed. “What?”

 

“Oh. No. I mean...is this...never mind.”

 

Arya snickered. “Your stupid mouth might be my favorite part of you, Gendry Waters.”

 

In an instant, Gendry had her in his arms, tickling her sides to coax her into surrender. It was also an attempt at distraction — a successful attempt that ended with Gendry’s innuendo pressed to Arya’s belly. “Are you sure that’s your favorite part?”

 

“It’s certainly the biggest part.”

 

His eyes widened and the grip he had on her tightened but in a way that had goosebumps painting Arya’s skin. “You tease...”

 

Arya reached beneath the covers to grab Gendry’s cock and begin to stroke. “Don’t be a brute.”

 

He lost his breath over her shoulder while she continued her ministrations. “Arya..”

 

“You’re right,” she announced, suddenly letting go. “I am a tease.”

 

All at once she was a mess of giggles and together they were a mess of limbs, wrestling atop her featherbed. It ended with Arya on top and as the pair worked to catch their breath she thoughtlessly leaned down to seize Gendry’s lips, stealing what little bit of oxygen he had left. Together they inhaled, breathing one another in, before slowly opening their eyes.

 

“If you meant to ask what my mother and father would think of me now...I don’t think it’d be much different than what they thought of me before.”

 

“No?”

 

“No. Not really. I was hopeless in my mother’s eyes...adored and revered in my father’s. He encouraged the wolf in me while my mother tried to tame it. It’s a wonder the two got along.”

 

“They did though, didn’t they?”

 

“Always.”

 

“They were in love?”

 

“Very much so. Theirs was a good marriage.”

 

Gendry reached up to push back the hair that began to frame Arya’s face. “Sounds nice.”

 

Arya waited, biting her lip. “Do you remember your mother much?”

 

“No,” Gendry breathed out. “Not much at all.”

 

“Did she look like you?”

 

“I don’t think so but I barely recall. She had lighter hair. She had a pretty voice...a kind smile. I remember flashes...simple memories.”

 

Arya reached down to cup Gendry’s cheek. She would have kissed him if she weren’t so distracted by the stoic nature of his features. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Why are you sorry? Less to remember is less to miss.”

 

"I think about that sometimes. All the time, lately..." Arya's voice trailed off. 

 

"Missing them?"

 

"No...well, yes. Always. But..." She smiled despite herself. "If they were still here, you wouldn't be."

 

"Oh."

 

"If my dad hadn't died I never would have...I wouldn't know you. I'd be a Lady of the North. You'd be—"

 

"Burned to death in King's Landing, most likely."

 

Arya rolled off Gendry and instinctively settled into his side as if it were the very place she belonged. “This is a stupid conversation.”

 

He looked to her, pressed a kiss to her forehead then looked up to the ceiling in agreement. “Very stupid.”

 

The past was gone and with it the people that had raised them. Even a tender moment couldn’t touch that pain and neither was bold enough to wonder if time would ever change that. They’d both been so good at being strong they forgot what weak felt like and now, even together and with hope on the horizon, they were terrified to find out.

 

“I’ve never swam in the ocean before, you know,” Arya managed, her voice cutting through the thick silence.

 

“What?”

 

“For fun. I’ve never—”

 

Gendry looked down to her, then back up to the ceiling, smiling again. The moment was gone — banished — they didn’t have control of _then_ but they had control of _now_. “We should change that.”

 

~!~

 

Jon had yet to get used to the constant escort: to and from his chambers as he managed through meals and meetings and councils. His father had not needed protecting walking around Winterfell but that was a different world, Jon knew now. It felt like a different life too, as if the same boy foolish and naive enough to believe such a thing could not have possibly grown up to be King. Even if this life and his role within it was a temporary one, it still felt surreal. Bran would arrive in a few short weeks and Jon was already counting the days. There was so much to plan and set into motion before then, most notably his place in the world outside of King’s Landing, when he’d return to being a man without a title. There were other facets too: ensuring Sansa was protected as Queen of the North, helping Bran to implement only the best advisors, and making sure Arya…

 

His mind drifted off at the sight of her, stone-cold features and straight spine, the last of her sop consumed as she now sipped at the dwindling wine it had been drenched in. Her eyes were like ice as they watched the hall, scanning amongst the nobles that ate and chatted, each group getting smaller by the day as everyone slowly attempted to assimilate back to life in their homelands. But for Arya it was company enough, especially considering how everyone, despite their best clear efforts, couldn’t help but to glance to the Princess much as Jon was now. If she were a mirage, blinking did nothing to vanish her and the closer Jon got the more he felt her presence. He was at least thankful to see needle at her side as he sat down beside her. She didn’t look to him at first but when she did she was silent, waiting for the words that soon came.

 

“You’re...here,” was all Jon could manage.

 

Arya returned her attention to the room. “I am.”

 

“Why?”

 

Arya smirked. She wouldn’t bother with the truth, that being that her lovemaking with Gendry had given her enough life to consider that maybe a world existed outside of the room she’d locked herself away in. She had an ocean to see, but before that a brother to make amends with. “It was time.”

 

Jon nodded. He thanked the servant girl that placed his plate down before him, his mind and tongue a hasty mess as he looked to Arya still, as if patiently waiting for her to disappear. “What happened?”

 

Finally, Arya looked to him. “Can we not make a scene of it?”

 

He swallowed, filling his lungs with forgotten air as his nearby gruel grew cold. “Of course.”

 

“I just thought about our dinner and...I can’t stay here forever.”

 

“Well—”

 

“And shut-in to runaway seemed like a big jump.”

 

Jon swayed in agreement. “T’would be.”

 

“They’ll start talking. They already have.”

 

“You said it yourself. They were talking already. What difference does it make?”

 

“I’m going to ignore it. Act like I’ve been here all along.”

 

Jon smirked as he finally dug at his meal. “You have been here all along.”

 

“I know. I mean...never mind,” she sighed.

 

Without warning Arya stood. It happened so quickly that Jon only noticed her when she was steps away. He hadn’t felt her stand up, hadn’t heard her chair scrape as she pushed off of it and then pushed it in. Suddenly she was at a distance, her presence threatening to go just as Jon had expected it would. She was stealthy and private but she was predictable in those things. The only level of uncertainty Arya held was in the timing of her quiet brilliance. She could be whoever she wanted to be, on her own time.

 

“Where are you going?” Jon boldly called out.

 

Arya shrugged. “Swimming, maybe.”

 

~!~

 

“Bollocks, Arya! Not fair!”

 

An attempt at a kiss, after several only cut short by the need to breathe, had Arya pushing Gendry down into the ocean. The gentle currents lapped at his neck as foam tickled the fingers that fell back into the sand. Gendry pushed off the earth and began to run after Arya who was already several paces away, holding her tunic up as if it weren’t already soaked.

 

Gendry ran at her, aiming for her calves with steady deliberation, enough concentration dotting his brow to allow him to lift her weight from the water and throw her over his shoulder. She tapped at his back in surrender and when another wave approached the shore Gendry dropped her legs, sending Arya headfirst into the rising water. She bobbed up immediately but Gendry was gone by then, his body treading water out where the ocean around Dragonstone truly started. Arya swam to him, forgetting her plans of revenge as he swept her up in his arms. She trusted him then, knowing their flirting had shifted as his mouth began to suckle at her neck. She laughed into the sensation, pushing him away out of instinct. All the while she loved the strong grip his arms had around her waist, keeping their bodies close.

 

With Arya’s legs finally wrapped around Gendry’s midsection, she didn’t feel the way he moved them toward the shore. She only felt the way the ocean receded and how the sound of waves kissing the sand grew louder with each step. She was too distracted by his kisses, then by the way he looked at her with a knowing smile. They’d never had a chance to be this carefree and both were seemingly shocked at the innate talent required to enjoy the moment. It was nice to know that they worked well together no matter the circumstances, in this life and the next and all the prior lives that led them to this moment, now moving slowly upon one another as their kisses found a passionate rhythm upon the dry land.

 

The pair remained like that for some time, in a rather innocent coupling compared to their more recent activities hidden away in Arya’s chambers. These were the moments they had never been afforded, moments they had long ago parted ways with. They hadn’t known they were capable of being this reckless; they didn’t want to be, such a thing didn’t seem possible after their separation all those years ago. It was almost as if they were teenagers again, not a bastard and a lady but a boy and a girl from normal families from normal lands outside of times of war.

 

“It’s getting dark.”

 

“Good,” Arya moaned as her hands began to wander. “I’m not done with you.”

 

Gendry sat up. His chest heaved as he looked down to Arya, her hair in thick strands, all of them sand-coated as she lay upon the beach. “Aye. And I, you. But the steps heading back inside are a nightmare when they’re wet. Learned that one the hard way. A few times.”

 

Arya cackled. “Fell on your ass, did ya?”

 

“A few times,” he repeated before joining in her laughter.

 

Gendry stood and reached out a hand in offering, one Arya readily took so she could launch her body up toward his. Their faces nearly collided but Arya took the moment to give Gendry one last slow kiss. When they pulled away both were reluctant to open their eyes but when they did the sky was somehow darker, as if its aim was to push them back inside.

 

Arya jumped on Gendry’s back and he stumbled forward as his body accepted the weight of her. He reached behind and repositioned her, taking the chance to stroke at the crease of her upper thigh.

 

Arya swatted his hand away. “Piss off!”

 

Gendry chuckled. “I was making sure you were holding on. I told you these steps were slippery.”

 

“Fuck your steps,” she spat, all before hiding her giggles in the back of his damp shirt.

 

They made it to the top of the stairs without incident. Just as seamlessly, Arya jumped down and grabbed Gendry’s hand to drag him up toward the castle. The couple was barefoot and still drenched, the salty sea-air highlighting their dishevelment more as they began to dry. Without the ocean soaking their skin their state was telling. Thankfully for them the dawn concealed most of what had transpired, particularly the purple love bites that made their home on the swell of Arya’s breasts or the crescent shaped nail marks etched into Gendry’s back from their initial romp against the rocks. It was not quite dark enough to hide Arya’s identity but a similar disbelief existed out in the bailey as it had that morning during the castle’s broken fast. Southerners knew only of rumors surrounding Lady Arya Stark, some of them so unbelievable they doubted her existence altogether. Surely she wasn’t suddenly frolicking around with the Blacksmith. The King wouldn’t allow such a thing.

 

He didn’t, or at least, Jon was hesitant to approve. He had been so relieved to see Arya outside of her chambers that he nearly forgave the sight before him, that of his youngest sister and his trusted friend. Arya appeared to him much in the way she had the previous night: older now, all innocent lost. The smile she wore was genuine though, far more genuine than it had been during their dinner. Jon knew now that Arya wouldn’t have attended if it weren’t for Gendry. If it weren’t for him she’d likely still be locked in her room, the fact of which had Jon contemplating rewarding his comrade with a feast or a beheading. The sudden realization that both were within his power had Jon looking away, walking away from the window just as Arya and Gendry disappeared into the castle down below.

 

With shoulders touching the pair continued much as they had, lost in a conversation they didn’t care if others heard. There was the occasional murmur, a clearly sly remark, then the inevitable laughter. Even if it was given in jest, they couldn’t help but to touch one another. Arya pushed Gendry away more than once, causing him to falter as he instantly sought his lost balance. He pinched her cheek in return, or flicked her ear. There were no apologies, only shared laughter.

 

“Are you going to supper then?”

 

“Doubt it.”

 

“No?”

 

“Are you bringing me supper? I much preferred that to this morning’s display.”

 

“Display?”

 

Arya smirked. “I told you it was a disaster. I’ve been gawked at enough for one day. Don’t avoid the question. Should I expect you soon or—”

 

“Arya?”

 

The youngest Stark girl’s face went blank as the familiar voice called upon her, pulling her out of the moment and plunging her into one that was once so comforting. It was not Dragonstone but Winterfell and they were younger then, her and…

 

“Sansa!” Arya inhaled sharply at the sight of her sister.

 

Sansa’s hair had been braided back off her shoulders in rejection of the humidity but atop her fiery locks sat a crown. It was delicate steel twisted into intricate knots that eventually revealed themselves as wolves around her hairline. Her usually thick cloak was replaced by a linen dress: still grey, still modest. Gone was the girl that once worshipped King’s Landing. Sansa’s presence was unwavering, marked only by a nearby Lady Brienne standing in the shadows. There was bravery that lifted the eldest Stark daughter’s shoulders, even as she looked to her sister in confusion. The pride that she held in her cheekbones was lost on Arya who still looked as if she’d been consumed by the ocean and was happy because of it.

 

“Arya,” Sansa nodded stoically. Her eyes then moved toward Gendry and his equally mussed state. “Lord Gendry,” she gave just the same, her head bowing in a way that had Arya’s eyes like saucers: round as her mouth dropped open.

 

“M’lady,” Gendry offered with a bow of his own.

 

When Arya finally looked to Sansa she swallowed. If she had been holding Gendry’s hand she no longer was, a fact apparent as she now watched Gendry dismiss himself, disappearing into the shadows in a way that felt like betrayal. Lady Brienne seemed to vanish too, leaving the Stark girls lost in a private moment neither seemed quite prepared for.

 

“What did you just call him?” Arya whispered.

 

“Lord Gendry.”

 

“Wh...Why?”

 

“What do you mean _why_?” Sansa smirked as she stepped in toward her sister. “He’s a lord now.”

 

“What?”

 

“Arya...Storm’s End. It’s his. Where have you been?”

 

“All over,” Arya deadpanned. “Not present, apparently.”

 

“He didn’t tell you?”

 

“I...no. He...no,” Arya settled once more, sad that was her only option.

 

“What does it matter? You're a lady. He's a lord."

 

“It matters a lot, actually!” Arya balked. “Because I'm _not_ a lady—”

 

“You most certainly are a lady.”

 

“I’m no more a lady than he is a lord. Was this your decision?”

 

“Hardly,” Sansa snickered. “The Dragon Queen made it so. I don’t know how he didn’t—”

 

“Well he didn’t,” Arya spat. Her words were final, marked by the way she began to march away, her hand on her hip as if to grip needle. Needle wasn’t there.

 

“Arya!” Sansa called out.

 

“We’ll take supper together,” Arya insisted strongly.

 

“We...we will?”

 

“We will,” she exhaled, pushing the air out past trembling lips - the same lips Gendry had kissed and caressed only moments before. “I have no other plans tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS FOR READING!!! 
> 
> Don't forget to check out my new Gendrya Modern AU: "Careful Fear and Dead Devotion". I finished storyboarding it this weekend and I am so. damn. excited to continue posting. 
> 
> Also, for those of you who have found me on tumblr, yes I have a tumblr and it's the same username there as on here. Let's be friends!! I promise I don't bite! xx


	9. Choice and Privilege

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya’llll I’m the worst. I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to update. I signed a big contract at work and I’ve just been too exhausted/busy/depressed to write. I promise I will (hopefully) stop apologizing one of these chapters as I (hopefully) get back to my usual writing/posting routine. The patience is appreciated in the meantime. We are getting toward the end of this story but the last section of chapters is my favorite, especially the next one. So just a heads up there. I promise I still adore this story as much as I did when I first started posting :)
> 
> *Note: there’s a storyline I touch upon here that I’ve intentionally left vague because the difference in the books and the show is so incredibly stark (pun intended, I guess?) that I didn’t know which one to go with so I kind of went with neither? The overall theme is the same and I trust that if you’ve only read the books or only watched the show you (do you exist?) you’ll still be able to follow along. 
> 
> I’m done talking to myself. On to the chapter!

Cold water and a strip of linen turned Arya’s skin pink as she rid herself of the sand she’d laid in and with it the boy that laid beside her. She couldn’t get rid of all of Gendry though and the parts of him that lingered on her skin were reminders of her feelings and how their power had awoken something she’d long ago given up on. 

 

There was a bruise on her hip from where Gendry had been so rough with her that the simple act of his fingers curled around the curve of her hip broke the skin. The imprint of his hand on her waist was faded to gold now, nearly disappearing into her complexion. Love bites in different shades of magenta and lavender marked the swell of her chest and the taut planes of her tummy. Even before they’d gone in the ocean evidence of Gendry’s steelwork marked Arya’s milky exterior. It was a guilty pleasure of hers: the proof of his hard work staining her skin as his lips and hips and hands moved upon her. Like the bath she was attempting, even the ocean couldn’t forgive his touch. 

 

She took particular care in picking out her outfit. She bound her chest and wore colors that contrasted with the world she existed in. Even Jon’s attire had begun to fit the landscape; furs traded in for muslin and stretched leather. Everyday wear in the North seemed funereal here. Even with the skies turning dark in preparation for another storm it was still so unreasonably hot. Arya’s skin felt sticky as she managed to drape her charcoal colored tunic over her upper body. She didn’t bother with breeches; it seemed like a silly thing to do with the tunic’s cap sleeves and she was already beginning to perspire as she moved about her room in it. 

 

Arya would have opened the window if she didn’t care so much about seeing him —  _ Lord Gendry _ . He wore other titles better, with the most honest one being her favorite. He was her best friend, a man she respected as much as she respected Jon. It was her capacity to love him that was the very thing that made him so easy to hate. 

 

With her hair wet and in an almost painfully tight bun atop her head, Arya made no motion to her knights as she flung open the door to her chambers and made her way past them. She felt the pair share a glance but as one of them advanced she stuck Needle to the tip of his nose in warning. 

 

“I don’t need a chaperone and I didn’t ask for company,” she stated plainly, her voice as sharp as the blade she now sheathed back upon her hip. She turned back to the steps and took the first one down. When she felt their absence, she turned back. “If Jon reprimands you, I’ll cut off his nose too.” 

 

The thought of violence against her brother seemed more ridiculous than violence against a King. It’d be a fair fight, Arya assumed, and it was one she played out as she continued her journey down the stone steps out into the bailey. Clouds moved overhead in a slow dance past one another like curtains anticipating a performance. Arya’s hand rested on Needle’s handle as she made her way past groups of commoners. They gawked; she was clearly more recognizable now, not only as a princess but as Arya Stark, the wolf blooded girl from the North. The staring only continued when she reached the forge and disappeared inside. Men and women alike craned their necks in an attempt to see where she’d gone. From above there were different eyes stationed in the castle, observing as well. 

 

“We need to talk,” Arya spat.

 

Gendry only barely looked up. “Let me finish this.” He continued his work smoothing out an unrecognizable piece of steel. 

 

Arya was incensed by the object but she swallowed and tossed her shoulders back. The men she’d ignored when she entered now watched, clearly gobsmacked by Gendry’s bravery. He’d told a princess to wait. Once more, she didn’t seem to mind. Or rather, she tolerated it. 

 

Finally Gendry stood up. He wiped his hands on his apron, which he then tossed off. The leather slipped off the nearby bench and as it hit the floor Gendry began to move, advancing toward Arya. His hand twitched as it fought to place itself to the small of Arya’s back. She would have killed him but it was a risk he contemplated taking. Hate was an emotion and it was better than the unfeeling state Arya sometimes portrayed. If her current disposition was any indication, it might have been more than just a portrayal. 

 

The pair took the same path back to the castle, now doing so together. Arya spun on her heel when they reached the main entrance to the keep. The shadow cast by the large archway above concealed them from most onlookers but anyone could still walk by. 

 

“What is wrong?” Gendry finally asked boldly. 

 

“You!” Arya shouted as she advanced, pushing at his shoulders. Gendry stumbled backward, but only barely. “You lied!”

 

“I did?”

 

“Did you want to tell me the Queen legitimized you?”

 

“I…”

 

“When?” Arya raged. “Before the battle? Did you know when we fucked?”

 

“Arya—”

 

“Let me finish!” Her hands were in little fists at her side, the posture almost keeping her grounded. “Who knows, Gendry? Everyone but me?” 

 

“It wasn’t…” He sighed and took a step forward, one that caused Arya to step back. “I don’t want it.”

 

“It doesn’t matter what you want, Gendry! The world expects things of you now.”

 

“No, it doesn’t. I don’t want the title! I don’t want the land or the castle or the people. Lately I just want everyone to fuck off.”

 

Arya rolled her eyes. She groaned simply and punched at his shoulder before beginning to stalk off. She made it only a pace before she felt Gendry’s grip upon her wrist — tight and firm. It had been like this only that morning when he’d held her hands down, pressing them into the pillows she laid upon to keep her from touching him. It was teasing then and Arya smiled into his mouth, breaking the kisses they shared as he taunted her. She wanted his touch then but now her skin felt hot in a different way. 

 

Arya felt the heat of his body too as that same grip was strong enough to pull her to him. Her face nearly collided with his chest but she was already looking up. A growl tugged at her lips as she contemplated kneeing him in the groin. She could have stepped on his toe too, or even likely tossed his touch away in disgust. 

 

“Talk to me, would you?” Gendry implored. He was snarling too. 

 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Arya promised as she finally wiggled out of his grasp. It was stronger than she expected and she rolled her wrist as she took a step back — annoyed but not annoyed enough to leave him. 

 

“I don’t know why this is even an issue!” 

 

“You clearly do because you kept it from me!”

 

“I didn’t mean to, Arya,” Gendry said with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter so I thought—”

 

“It does matter, Gendry! They’ll marry you off now!”

 

He nearly lunged at her. His breath was hot on her cheek as she blinked up at him, waiting. “They could marry me off to you,” he seethed. 

 

“Pardon? Absolutely not!”

 

“What? You’ll have to get married, Arya. Especially with Jon as King. Clearly it has crossed your mind.”

 

“No. It hasn’t.”

 

“If not me then who?”

 

“No one!” she screamed back. 

 

“Well you’re an idiot because that’s not an option!”

 

“It is for me!”

 

“Well then it’s not for me!” Gendry bellowed in frustration. “Like you said! How am I supposed to be a lord if I can’t have a family?”

 

“You can! Just not with me!”

 

The words were like the tips of sharp swords taunting him as they scraped across his skin. “You want that?” 

 

“No!”

 

“Me neither!” he shouted. “You know, why are you so afraid of this? What difference does it make - having a title? I don’t aim to own you, Arya. I don’t want to control or tame you. I want an equal. I want a strong woman by my side. And I had a lot of time to think about this on my journey South and the only thing that makes sense is you. It’s not just about what I want, it’s about what I need. I need a woman like you, Arya. To take care of the lands we’re given, to rule the people, to mother a few babes…” 

 

“Absolutely not!”

 

“Well not right now!”

 

“Not ever!”

 

“What? We talked about babes—”

 

“That was...barely!” 

 

Gendry wiped at his mouth and shook his head. He didn’t bother to advance.  _ Let them hear _ , he thought. “Well with the way things have been lately we should be talking about them more. Just last night you were gagging for me to finish inside of you—”

 

Gendry heard the slap before he felt the sting of Arya’s palm upon his cheek. When she pulled away his stubbled jaw turned hot, the skin flushed scarlet in the absence of her touch. 

 

Incensed, Gendry stuck out his foot to trip Arya who now brushed past him with her head held high in victory. All of her pride was dismissed as she tumbled toward the ground but she caught her fall with her hands pressed flat down into the mud. The same position made it easy for her to push up off the earth, following Gendry as he stalked further into the castle. 

 

“Don’t walk away from me, Gendry!” 

 

“Piss off!” he tossed over his shoulder.

 

“How dare you!”

 

“How dare me?” He turned around to look to her but continued to shift backward. The castle was unrealistically vacant, as if giving them the space to spar. “You act like marrying me is the worst thing that could happen to you! Like having my child is a curse! Why? What are we doing then?”

 

“We’re...things are fine,” Arya assured.

 

Gendry sighed. And stopped. “You’re going to leave again,” he reasoned.

 

“I’m not. And if I do it’ll be with you.”

 

Suddenly he was breathless. “You want to leave? Fine! Let’s go!” 

 

“We can’t if you’re a lord. Jon needs you. And...this is what you’ve always wanted.”

 

“Like fuck I have!” 

 

“You have a name and you have purpose. You have  _ respect _ . That’s what you’ve always wanted!”

 

“You’re insane if you think I care about any of that. Not now.”

 

“Of course you do! Everyone does! I would!” Arya beseeched with a hand pressed to her chest. 

 

Gendry gave a taunting chuckle. “No you wouldn’t,” he miffed. “Because you don’t!”

 

“This is important to you, Gendry! Your mother would be proud. You should take it.”

 

Arya didn’t know when but in an instant he was in front of her again. “It’s nothing if you’re not beside me. So if the idea of that scares you then maybe we  _ should _ end this.”

 

Arya blinked, then swallowed. She sighed too before finally shaking her head. “I’m not a lady.”

 

“And I’m not a lord. I’m not asking you to be anything other than what you are. Arya, the girl I love. Have loved. Will always love despite how fucking annoying you are!”

 

“I’m annoying?” Arya countered in clear offense. “Do you think loving you is easy? I want to kill you half the time!”

 

“ _ Half  _ the time?” Gendry released a guffaw in pure disbelief. “That’s kind. I want to kill you  _ most  _ of the time!”

 

Arya pushed at him but Gendry stopped her, the task an easy one as he grabbed for her waist and picked her up. He tossed her over his shoulder and she flailed, kneeing his chest and pounding at his back in an attempt to be let down. A puddle disguised a rather large hole and Gendry’s foot snagged, causing them both to fumble to the ground. Immediately Arya rolled away from him and when he crawled after her to grab her ankle she jumped up, greeting him again when she was sitting upon his chest, returning his favor from the morning as she held his hands down into the muck. Both were breathless and Arya’s mouth curled, fighting the urge she had to just lean down and kiss him. She wanted his touch; she wanted him even when she hated him. Likely because she didn’t hate him at all. 

 

Thinking better of it Arya jumped to her feet. Steady stomping brought her into the nearest hallway where a darkness cloaked her while sconces flickered to light her way. The pending night had Gendry’s broad form concealed and Arya certainly couldn’t hear him as the contraction of her own lungs turned everything around her to white noise. The moment sped up when she felt cold stone digging into her back as all of Gendry pushed her flush up against the castle wall. They were close — too close — and rain soaked and muddy.

 

Arya was powerless to the way Gendry’s lips captured her own. She surrendered rather easily, gripping his neck and nearly tugging at his doublet as if it were a reasonable thing to disrobe in such a public corridor. Similarly Gendry’s hands found a new home upon Arya’s chest. Even through her binding he felt her nipples harden and he tweaked her sensitive skin, causing her mouth to fall open while his own began a journey down her neck. He sucked and bit and licked at her salty skin, moving aside her tunic to do so. 

 

“Arya!” 

 

She pushed Gendry away and he nearly fell down. He wiped at his lips in anger and she did the same though their fear at being caught had the couple avoiding eye contact. Arya could only imagine what she looked like. She felt the mud drying in her hair and how her complexion was still on fire, even with Gendry far away. Her shock wasn’t enough to erase the warmth in her belly or the visions of him she’d already begun to construct, ones that had him taking her up against this wall. Could such reckless abandon strip them of their titles? Arya hoped so.  

 

“Sansa!” Arya managed. 

 

The auburn haired girl had her hands clasped in front of her as if unaffected. Gendry waited, looking to the ground but sensing how the two sisters took one another in. He’d never had siblings, at least none of consequence, but he imagined that even the other Baratheon bastards had more in common with him than the Stark girls ever shared with one another. Their single shared factor was the dark colors they wore, a homage to the home they’d both left behind, even temporarily. 

 

“You can go now, Lord Gendry,” Sansa finally spoke up. The directive was delivered to Arya. “Unless my sister has anything to say to you.”

 

Arya looked away. She heard Gendry cough then sensed him leave, a cold breeze tickling her still heaving chest as his fury had him stomping quickly away. 

 

Sansa smirked. “I’d say it’s good it was me coming to scold you and not Jon.”

 

“Scold me?”

 

“You’re...scuffling. A lord and a lady are playing in the mud, yelling at one another! In the Bailey for all to see.”

 

“I was here, Sansa. I know what I was doing.”

 

“What has gotten into you?”

 

It was Arya’s turn to smirk as she proudly walked past her sister. Despite her fight with Gendry she couldn’t help but to smile. “What? No,” she scoffed. “ _ Who _ .”

 

“Arya!”

 

“Exactly,” Arya tossed back in surrender. “I don’t think you are ready for the answer to that question.”

 

“That answer is apparent to anyone who saw you two just now.”

 

“Good. Then I have nothing to explain.”

 

“Does Jon know?”

 

“Know what?”

 

“About you and Gendry.”

 

Arya chuckled in dismissal. “There is no me and Gendry.”

 

Sansa raised a brow in question. She looked exactly like their mother: a stoic Tully with an almost biting frankness. “It looks like there is.”

 

“We...I don’t want to have this conversation.”

 

“Well I do.”

 

Arya rolled her eyes. “Are we still meeting for supper?”

 

“If you’d like. I have them setting everything out in my solar. I was coming down to find you…”

 

“Yes and we’ve established that you did. Congratulations.” Arya turned to walk away.

 

“Arya!”

 

She spun back around once more. “Did you want me coming like this?”

 

Sansa rolled her lips inward. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

 

Arya rolled her shoulders and stalked away, disappearing down the corridor. She made her way back up the stairs, mud surely marking the stairs she climbed in haste. At the top were her knights, right where she’d insisted they remain. 

 

“Thanks,” she managed flatly, all before disappearing back into her chambers. 

 

~!~

 

"Your hair is wet."

 

Arya shut the door to Sansa’s solar and silently advanced toward the table set out in the center of the room. "Tis,” she managed as she sat down. “Didn't have time to stand idly by the fire and dry it."

 

"I'd say you'd catch a cold but you likely won't,” Sansa stated from behind the goblet she casually held up. “I had forgotten how hot it is here. It’s disgusting.” She revealed the truth toward the window. “I don't know how Jon stands it."

 

"He does better than I do."

 

Sansa looked back to Arya. "He's always been good at putting on a brave face."

 

The youngest Stark sister’s mouth twisted and her eyes narrowed. "Withstanding heat doesn't equate to bravery. He can ride a fucking dragon, Sansa. I'd imagine his heat threshold is much higher than ours."

 

"As I'm sure Lord Gendry's is. He's from Flea Bottom, no?"

 

"He is,” Arya seethed through clenched teeth. “He also works in a smithy. I'd say that likely has more of an impact."

 

Sansa rolled her eyes and bore into her sister with a piercing glare. The sleeveless dress Arya wore earlier was replaced now by a simple linen tunic and breeches. Her boots were the same but it was clear they’d been washed of their dirt and muck. Her hair was different: pulled back off her face in the way she’d seen Jon wear his. It was unbecoming of a lady to be so fresh-faced, especially in a place that looked upon hair and rosy cheeks as feminine wealth. Back in Winterfell, Arya kept her hair down when she was in public, or at least she had when Sansa had been around. Now the eldest Stark girl knew why. A constellation of blue and purple painted itself in a swirl behind Arya's ear. Arya just stared back and Sansa wondered what that was like. Not to be touched in such a way but to enjoy it. The mark was foreign to Sansa. She had others once. They'd never looked like that. 

 

“Go ahead and ask,” Arya said, breaking through the silence with no apology. “I know you want to.” 

 

The words brought Sansa out of her reverie. “I did ask. You said no.”

 

Arya sipped her wine. “Did Jon see me?”

 

“I don’t know what he’s seen.” Sansa sat forward. “Are you asking if he saw you and Gendry up against the wall? No. I don’t think he saw that.”

 

“It’s not funny.”

 

“It really is.” Arya’s featured shifted and her nose twitched as she fought to regain her composure. The sight of her sister, even at odds, caused Sansa to pause. “He was worried about you.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Lord Gendry. At Winterfell. He asked Lady Brienne to help him craft a note to Ser Davos. He pretended to want general information but it was clear he only cared about you. Then when the letter from Ser Davos came back...he can’t read, you know—“

 

“Yes he can.”

 

“What? No, he—”

 

“He can now,” Arya stated proudly. “I’ve taught him. He can read.”

 

“You taught Gendry Baratheon how to read?”

 

“And I killed the Night King,” Arya said before taking a rather large gulp from her goblet. She placed the almost empty cup back on the table. “I’m a woman of many talents.”

 

Sansa shook her head. “Clearly.” 

 

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

 

“I don’t know now. You’re being a brat.”

 

“Really? A brat? Are we children?”

 

“Sometimes. You are.” Sansa rolled her eyes. “It’ll be announced this week but I’ve accepted a marriage proposal. I wanted you to hear before everyone else.”

 

“What? Who?”

 

“I...it’s a marriage of convenience but a strong one and aside from it being a good move for the North it will provide me with protection and give me the children I want.”

 

“Seven hells. Who is it?”

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“That my sister is getting married? Yes.”

 

“You don’t care.”

 

“I do.”

 

“You don’t. You’re just nosy.”

 

“I—”

 

“That’s not the point of any of this. That news is...insignificant. I just wanted you to know that Jon has been asking me what I think when it comes to you.”

 

“What do you mean when it  _ comes to me _ ?”

 

“He says you’ve been better. A lot better.”

 

“I suppose I have.”

 

“And you can’t stay here forever.”

 

“No, I can't. Nor would I want to. But I didn’t know I was being kicked out.”

 

“You’re not. But it’s like Winterfell. You can’t live there forever. You should—”

 

“He wants to marry me off and you’ve agreed,” Arya guessed.

 

“I didn’t—“

 

“Was this your idea?”

 

“No!”

 

“You likely suggested it!”

 

“I didn’t! I am telling you how it is.”

 

“You’re telling me how you want it to be. I am not—”

 

“You wouldn’t marry Lord Gendry?”

 

“Right now I want to strangle Lord Gendry, so no I certainly wouldn't marry him." 

 

“He seemed like a viable option only an hour ago.”

 

“I can bed who I want without it having to mean anything.”

 

“Arya!”

 

“I’d be a terrible wife. A terrible mother.”

 

“I don’t think you would and I don’t think you believe those things either.”

 

“I do! Why shouldn’t I? No Lord wants me! And I don’t want to be a lady!”

 

“Arya, you are a lady. And it looks like a lord definitely wants you.” 

 

“I’m not.”

 

“You’ll always be a lady and to say you’re not is to insult the Stark name. An insult to mother and father.”

 

“Don’t! Don’t bring them into this!”

 

“Father would have married you off. You need to stop living in this fantasy land! You have responsibilities! Jon is doing his best to fix everything that bitch broke and he needs your help.”

 

Arya blinked. “You might as well tell me who your new husband is. He has to be the reason you’re so upset.”

 

“He’s not. I genuinely am pleased with the match. You’re just the most insufferable person I’ve ever met.”

 

“Likewise.”

 

“I am trying to help you. Jon, believe it or not, has suggested the Prince of Dorne. The Prince, Arya!”

 

“He can suggest who and what he wants. It doesn’t mean anything to me.”

 

“You’re not understanding. This is not optional. I saw how Lord Gendry felt about how...how he clearly  _ feels _ about you and you can play this tough girl because it’s who you’ve always been but I think you feel the same.”

 

“You don’t know what I feel!”

 

“I don’t think you do I either.” It was quiet again. There was silence and with it both sisters tried to catch the oxygen they hadn’t even realized they lost. “It's Tyrion,” Sansa finally revealed in a low, unaffected way. 

 

“What?”

 

“That’s my new husband. It’s Tyrion.”

 

“The dwarf?”

 

“Our brother’s advisor. One of the most important men in the Six Kingdoms. Yes.”

 

“You’ve always cared about that.”

 

“Once I did. That was a long time ago. Before men continuously treated me like a piece of garbage that was to be used and disregarded without a second thought. Then all I cared about was that if any man ever touch me again I’d chop his cock off.”

 

“Aye.”

 

“Tyrion has always been kind to me. Outside of our family he’s one of the only men that I can say that about. He didn’t think he’d ever find a wife. I didn’t think I wanted to marry again. But I want children and so does he.”

 

“You can have them?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I mean he. He can have them?”

 

Sansa laughed. “He can. We can. And the thought doesn’t completely repulse me. I’ve made it clear to him that I have no duty to him beyond friendship.”

 

“But you’ll have to bed him if you want children.”

 

“Of course I will. He’s a good man and it will be a good match. One of respect and common goals.”

 

“You’ll move to King’s Landing then?”

 

“No. I’ll stay in Winterfell.”

 

“What? You can’t.”

 

“I can do what I want. Right? Isn’t that what you believe?”

 

“I—”

 

“I’m the Queen of the North, Arya. My people need me.”

 

Arya waited. “What?”

 

“Jon agrees. The North should be sovereign. We have nothing in common with these people.”

 

“Your betrothed is one of  _ these people _ .”

 

“He is and he’ll travel with Jon. Once everything is settled he’ll come back to Winterfell and we’ll start our life together.”

 

“Seven Hells...”

 

“I’m giving you a chance here, Arya. I can suggest Lord Gendry if he is what you want...and I do think he’s what you want. I think you want him very much.”

 

“I certainly do want him very much.”

 

“Don’t be crass.” Arya smirked and turned away. “It’d be a good match. He’d be good to you. It’s clear you wouldn’t have any problems when it comes to being intimate. He could give you children and—”

 

“He will not.”

 

“He’s sterile?”

 

“No, he’s not. I wish he were. I wish I were too.” 

 

“That’s a terrible thing to say.”

 

“I like to do what I want when I want and I don’t like to think about it.”

 

“If only we all could be so lucky.”

 

“I am lucky. He respects me. The fucking is good—”

 

“You love him.”

 

“None of that matters. I’m not the girl for him.”

 

“Have you told him that? Because I think he’d disagree.”

 

“No. I haven’t told him that,” Arya countered with syncopated condescension. “We have a lot to catch up on now that I’ve learned he’s been lying to me for several fortnights.”

 

A knock sounded on the door. Sansa called out for them to enter and they did, a line of servants carrying trays of fruit and fish and cheese. Sansa had her nose turned up, like a mask she wore while each servant moved around them, decorating the table in food. She thanked all of them and they bowed before leaving once more. All the while Arya had her head down, still uncomfortable with being waited on. The years she spent as a child when such a thing was normal were so far gone they were nearly forgotten. Since then she’d been a cupbearer and she knew the shame associated with such a task. Then again, these girls didn’t seem to have shame when they served Sansa, or even when they served her. They seemed proud, as girls of the North should be for other girls of the North — even those with titles and stations and wealth way beyond their own. 

 

The meal was finished mostly in silence and when dessert was served and plates were cleared Arya finally stood up. There was no other pleasant conversation to be had. Gendry was a Lord, her sister was practically a Queen and, in a way, she was still No One. 

 

At the door Arya had her hand on the latch, ready to leave. She’d be spending the night alone. For that reason she had no urge to get back to her chambers but she also felt uncomfortable staying here.

 

“What is it like?” Sansa called out, just before Arya opened the door. 

 

She turned back, but only slightly. “What?”

 

“Laying with a man.” 

 

Arya spun slowly, unsure she’d heard her sister right. “What?”

 

“Never mind.” Sansa shook her head and looked away, returning her attention to the ocean as if beyond it she could see Winterfell. Looking to her past had never gained her any favors and the presence of her sister was unlikely to change that. 

 

“Are you asking what it’s like...you’ve never…”

 

Sansa looked up, almost shocked to see Arya now standing in the middle of the room. The table still separated them but behind Arya the door remained shut, the outside world temporarily kept out. 

 

“No. Not in the way I imagine you have.” 

 

Sansa expected Arya to grin but she didn’t. The dark haired girl blinked, calculating. She was silent for awhile, causing Sansa to hold her breath. She could have dismissed her again but something told her that if she had, Arya wouldn’t have left as easily. If that were an option, Sansa mused Arya would have vanished by now.

 

“It’s...it’s wonderful.”

 

Sansa nodded. “I’ve heard it can be.”

 

“Do you want me to be frank?”

 

“I asked, didn’t I?” When Arya didn’t answer, Sansa softened. “Yes, I do.” Then: “Please.”

 

“It’s one of my favorite things in the world.”

 

“Better than sword fighting?”

 

“About the same,” Arya reasoned. The sisters shared small smiles.

 

“You weren’t terrified?”

 

“No. Not in the way most women are. There was no duty in it. I did it because I wanted to. It was my idea.”

 

“Your...your idea?” Sansa paused. “With Lord Gendry?”

 

“No,” Arya gave strongly. “Just Gendry.”

 

Amused, Sansa looked back to the window to hide her grin. “Oh.” 

 

“The other day we... _ I _ ,” Arya corrected, “was thinking about mother and father. Their marriage was arranged and they were still in love.”

 

“It was.”

 

“You could have that, couldn’t you?”

 

“No,” Sansa laughed. “No, I couldn’t.” 

 

Arya expected more from Sansa but none came. She was to the door again before her sister spoke. 

 

“I’m going to say something and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t cut me off. You can be angry at me and you can disagree because it’s what you do but we rarely see each other and if today’s events are any indication, I doubt that’ll change much going forward.”

 

“Go on,” Arya nodded, her hand still on the door’s latch. 

 

“I once thought I’d someday see you reprimanded for running away with some commoner. You always fit in with them. You’d choose to spend your time with them so I imagined eventually you’d fall in love with one of them. I couldn’t picture you being a lady and I think, even now, you’re so stubborn you’d choose to fall in love with a man that wasn’t a lord just to avoid that title.”

 

“Isn’t that what I’ve done?”

 

“Have you? Fallen in love with a commoner, I mean.”

 

“He’s not a commoner anymore.” 

 

“Regardless of what he is, are you not in love with him?” Arya bristled, ready to leave, so Sansa persisted. “You don’t know how incredibly lucky you are. You’ve fallen in love with a commoner and you still don’t have to leave the life you know behind. You could,” Sansa reasoned, “but why would you when you can have both?”

 

“I don’t want both.”

 

“Don’t you? Doesn’t everyone? To be free of judgement and still have the advantages of a featherbed and warm meals? To be able to travel, not because you’re running from anything, but because you can? You said it yourself, Arya. You like to do what you like to do and you don’t like to think about it. Only a lady has that privilege. Only a lady could be so lucky.”

 

“I—”

 

“Only a lady could be so blessed to have the man she loves turned to a lord. If you choose the common life, you lose Gendry. If he hadn’t been legitimized, he’d have lost you. You’re more insane than I thought if you think things couldn’t be perfect for you.”

 

“I don’t want perfect. I don’t want—”

 

“Why are you always fighting it? Every little thing? Jon told me how hard you fought to get back to Winterfell and it still wasn’t enough. You still had your battles and vendettas. When will you stop running?”

 

“I’m not running. I stayed in my room so long, they thought I was dead. I was actually quite skilled at staying in one place.”

 

“It doesn’t last with you. You have a hunger. I don’t understand it but I recognize that I never will. You and I have never seen eye to eye and that won’t change either. But I’m undeniably jealous of you and all your freedom. To think that you even have a choice in who you marry...what other woman in all the Six Kingdoms can say that? What woman in the North alone can say that? I certainly can’t.”

 

“You could…”

 

“I can’t!” Sansa insisted in a firm shout. She sighed, exhaling unsteadily past plump red lips. “If you told Jon that you were marrying Lord Gendry it would be as simple as that. You’d marry the man you love. You have that choice and you’re being stupid and stubborn and throwing it away.”

 

“I’m not—”

 

“You’re being stupid and stubborn and throwing it away.” 

 

Sansa’s voice was calm then. It didn’t bear repeating, not for a third time. The sound and the sentiment was already ringing in Arya’s ears as she left her sister’s chambers and made it back to her own. She heard it as she undressed and readied herself for bed. She heard it when she couldn't sleep, then again and again as she stared up at the ceiling, the space beside her empty and cold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, a lesson in privilege...
> 
> Thanks for reading! Be lovely and leave me a review if you’re feeling motivated! 
> 
> Updating Careful Fear and Dead Devotion next...


	10. Not Right Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited this. I edit all of these (believe it or not) but there’s probably so many errors because I just wanted to get this posted for ya’ll so my sincerest apologies in advance. Enjoy??
> 
> ***It's probably not necessary but it may be helpful to go back and read 'Maybe', the oneshot that was a prequel to this fic. It set the tone for two of the major canon divergences: 1) Arya does not know Gendry was legitimized and 2) Gendry never proposed

With angry limbs, Arya winded through each tower and climbed every staircase until she saw nothing but ocean and clouds. She couldn’t sleep and the waves crashing on the rocks down below were a warm invitation to her own quiet chaos, the pounding in her head and her heart feeling at home as Arya settled upon Dragonstone’s highest ledge. Her feet and needle’s sheathed tip dangled downward as Arya lifted her chin to stare out at the rest of the world that seemed to exist beyond the horizon. 

 

Arya knew what she was looking for, but did not know if such a place could even be seen from her current vantage point. She had once paid men to take her places, lands she’d seen only after she’d lived several years traveling to places beyond her own control. She hadn’t had a choice then in the life she lived and at the time she never knew if she’d gain that choice back. She didn’t know that someday she’d have too many choices and she’d face them not like the assassin who killed the Night King but as the same scared little girl she had been the last time she’d been South when her family was torn apart and her identity was stolen from her in an attempt to keep her safe. 

 

Gendry had been there then. Not Lord Gendry Baratheon, just  _ Gendry _ : the bastard blacksmith with the temper and strength who somehow found it in himself to befriend her, and remain friends with her after she’d confided in him a secret that could have cost both of them their lives. They’d made it through Harrenhal and Riverrun and all the places in between. They were separated then reunited, only to be separated and reunited again. All of the lives Arya felt she had lived had been lived with Gendry, even when she was in Braavos and he was beyond the wall with Jon. Like her fight to get back to Winterfell, Arya knew now that a search for home was much more about the people living there than the land itself. Home was transient, if she wanted it to be. Home could be Dragonstone or Winterfell or even Storm’s End, the unfamiliar territory her squinting eyes continued to seek out. 

 

Arya was pulled from her search by the sound of familiar company. Gendry’s exhale was her favorite sound and she heard it with a dull grunt as he finally appeared, pulling his much larger body out onto the ledge to join her. He didn’t apologize for his appearance or ask permission to remain. Gendry merely existed, silently sitting beside her, his eyes also cast out onto the horizon. 

 

“Which one is it?” Arya finally asked with a huff.

 

Slowly, Gendry rolled his neck to look to her. Their close proximity actually made the task somewhat difficult, but he smirked all the same. If Arya’s own frustrations weren’t gnawing at her insecurities, Gendry would have taken the time to poke fun at her. “What are you looking for?”

 

“Storm’s End,” she sighed. “Which one is it?”

 

Gendry rolled his eyes and returned his gaze to the ocean before them. That’s all it was, too — just ocean. Even with the still smoldering cityscape, King’s Landing was indiscernible. The night was so dark and so windy it was as if the entire world beyond Dragonstone failed to exist. 

 

“You can’t see it from here,” Gendry chuckled.

 

Arya’s nose flared and her eyes widened. “What?”

 

“It’s that way,” Gendry explained with a thumb tossed over his shoulder. A small chuckle escaped his lips too and for a moment he was sure Arya was going to reach out and push him off the ledge. When she didn’t, he leaned back against the wall of the turret and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you looking for Storm’s End?”

 

“Well—” 

 

Gendry laughed and turned back to the ocean again. “You couldn’t see it from here even on a clear day.”

 

“How long does it take to get there?”

 

He paused, not to calculate but to consider the implication of Arya’s curiosity. “Two days by sea. Four by land,” he guessed.

 

“Have you been?”

 

“No,” Gendry breathed out a laugh. “I have not been.”

 

“Will you be going?”

 

His breath caught in his throat and he blinked, hard, as if to help the process. “Uh...I, well...yeah, Davos thinks I oughta.” 

 

“And what do you want to do?”

 

The sight of Arya, splotchy cheeks and salt-kissed hair, did nothing to help Gendry breathe. Her persistent questioning was an added hindrance. He hadn’t given it much thought. He had wanted to see her — to see Arya — and he had. He did. They spent their mornings and days and nights together. He had forgotten about the world they’d left behind, if only for a few weeks. But he was not angry at Sansa for her reminder of reality; he was angry with himself for ever forgetting in the first place.

 

“I…” Gendry swallowed. “Yes, I want to go. To at least see what it’s like. I...it’s my right, they say. Jon needs the help. I think...yeah, I’ll go.” 

 

Arya nodded, slowly, then returned her attention out to the ocean. “Do you want me to come?”

 

“I...yes, I do.”

 

“Were you going to tell me or—”

 

“Are we going to talk about this? For real this time? Can we? Finally?”

 

Arya bit her lip and nodded. “I think we should.”

 

Gendry sighed. “I know you’re angry. I know you think I kept this from you and I didn’t but I’ve been thinking and...what would you have had me done, Arya? I didn’t...she didn’t ask if I wanted it! She just told me! I was in shock. I didn’t know what to think...what to do!”

 

“Why are you apologizing?”

 

“Because—”

 

“Because you lied?”

 

“Yes, because I lied, but I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to not tell you. I just...forgot.”

 

“That you were a Lord?  _ Are _ a lord? You just forgot, Gendry?”

 

“I did! Because I am a Lord but I’m not! I don’t know what any of this is. I don’t even know what that means. I couldn’t give two shits about any of that. I was a bit drunk that night and all I could think about was that you were avoiding me—”

 

“You avoided me!”

 

“I didn’t! And we went through this, alright? It was a lot. You didn’t think you’d survive...well maybe none of us did.”

 

“Thought I’d survive?”

 

“No! Thought  _ we’d _ survive! I didn’t think I’d ever be here, Arya. Not at Dragonstone but even south again. I thought I was going to die too. We all did. But then we didn’t die. You didn’t. I didn’t. Maybe I was in fuckin’ shock too, okay? So no, I wasn’t focused on being a fuckin’ lord, I was focused on being alive. That’s it.”

 

Arya breathed out. She nodded too, and looked down to where her fingertips nearly brushed against his own upon the stone ledge. “I can’t just...are you inviting me?”

 

Gendry scoffed. “That’s not how I imagined this conversation going in my head but sure, Arya, I’ll invite you.”

 

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re making fun of me.”

 

“I’m not. I’m just a fool, that’s all.”

 

“You’re...I don’t follow.”

 

Gendry chortled again. “I don’t want to invite you to come to Storm’s End with me, Arya. I want to ask you to be my wife. I want us to get married and I want you to help me rule it...to be Lady of Storm’s End.”

 

“ _ Your _ Lady?”

 

“ _ A  _ lady,” he answered quickly. “In title. A title you already hold.”

 

“I don’t—”

 

“Shut up! For just a moment, Arya, please! Shut...up!” Gendry begged, now with eyes closed and with those same fingertips curled tightly around the stone’s edge in anger.

 

“I don’t want to be a lady. You know that.”

 

“I don’t want to be a lord. I don’t even know what that title really means. I don’t know what a lord and a lady do...but you do. I know nothing and you know everything...the girl I... _ love _ ...knows everything about this life I’m supposed to have. You’re the only thing I’m sure of Arya...have ever been sure of. Even when you’re a pain in my ass, even when you’re stubborn and selfish...it doesn’t matter. I love you and I want you and I’m sure you don’t get this but when the Dragon Queen said what she said...when she legitimized me...do you realize that is the first time in my life I actually thought I deserved you? That it was okay for me to feel what I’ve always felt because finally the world would see me as worthy?”

 

She reached out for him but he was gone. “Gendry, I…” 

 

“What do you want, Arya? I finally thought we could be together and now...what are your plans? After this? After Dragonstone? What then?”

 

“I...I don’t know. I didn’t think I’d survive, Gendry. I told you that.”

 

“But you did! I did! We did! We survived, Arya! We survived Harrenhal and Riverrun and we survived the fucking army of the dead and now we’re here, alright? And there’s no wars. We can finally live our lives in peace. I wanted that life to be with you. I wanted my life to be your life. I don’t know why that’s so easy for me to say and so hard for you to get.”

 

“It just feels like...Storm’s End feels like a lot.”

 

“Yeah, for me too,” he huffed. 

 

“My mother was a lady. Sansa is a lady. I’m not...I’m not a lady. I’m not,” she assured. “I was never good with the sewing or the customs. I’ve never owned a dress I haven’t ruined. I—”

 

“I don’t care about any of that.”

 

“But your people will!”

 

“They’ll be  _ our _ people and they’ll love you!”

 

“You’re saying that because you believe that all people must love their nobility but isn’t that what we’ve been fighting? What we fought? What all of these people in King’s Landing died for? And would have died for eventually even if Cersei survived?”

 

“That’s not what I’m saying! I’m saying it because I know it’ll be true! Storm’s End will be ours, Arya. It will be ours to rule. You always say how much everyone loved your father...be that type of ruler.”

 

“I’m not a ruler, Gendry.”

 

“Well I’m not either. But I have to be. And I know I can do this and I know that things will be okay if you’re by my side when I do. Being a lady...it’s a title, Arya! You even said it...everything will change with someone new on the throne.”

 

“You can’t keep me if we’re not wed, Gendry. Your people won’t respect you.”

 

“Then wed me! Even smallfolk wed, Arya…”

 

“I…” Her nose crinkled and her eyes, instantly, filled with tears. Her vision was clouded and speech felt impossible. “I love you so much, Gendry.”

 

All at once he was crying too — or could have been. Like Arya, Gendry’s eyes were glossed over with tears. But neither wept. “I...I love you too. You know that.”

 

“I know,” she nodded, finally crying. The single tear that cascaded down her cheek tasted of pure salt when it found its home at the corner of her mouth. “I’m so happy for you. You’re going to be the best lord. I mean that. The people of Storm’s End will be so lucky. But you deserve a dutiful wife who will make your life easy. She’ll be obedient and she’ll give you the babes you want. She’ll be beautiful and perfect and—”

 

“I don’t want her. I want you. I’m not doing this without you.”

 

Arya choked back a sob as she wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “This all just feels like too much. I didn’t...I know you’re sick of me hearing it but I don’t know how else to say it...to get you to understand that...that I didn’t think I’d be here. After my father…” The break in her voice told of her inability to even articulate what had happened. “I didn’t see anything past getting home.”

 

“You got home and you fought, Arya. Because it’s what you do. And then you fought again. You know, I used to think my life was shit. That it was always going to be shit. But lately...maybe it doesn’t have to be. What’s the worst thing that could happen if, for once in my life, I have a little hope?”

 

Gendry expected a rebuttal and when none came he expected a grunt or a stomp as Arya stood and ran away. That also failed to happen. Arya remained, her body still and shaking. She couldn’t even blink; to do so would be to invite more tears and already she felt as if she’d been wrung dry. “I…” Arya nearly collapsed, her stomach concave and her chest tight as her body fought another sob.

 

“Hey, Arry, hey...it’s okay,” Gendry soothed as he pulled her in. Just a night of not having her by his side had him missing the feel of her pressed into him and when she immediately submitted to his touch and buried her head in his shoulder Gendry only softened and tightened the grip he had around her as he continued to inhale the scent of her. 

 

“I just need to breathe,” Arya mumbled into Gendry’s chest. “I...I don’t have answers. Not yet,” she said, as she finally leaned back to look up at him. “I shouldn’t have opened my door.”

 

Gendry’s brow furrowed. “What?”

 

“I shouldn’t have left my room,” she corrected, also forcing a smile. “Pretending for awhile was nice.”

 

Cupping her cheek, Gendry moved a stray hair back behind her ear. “It doesn’t have to be pretending. Not all of it.” 

 

Arya looked away, her features distant, but this time the smile she wore was genuine. “No, I guess not.”

 

Gendry shifted his hand, moving so his thumb and forefinger held Arya’s chin and gently demanded she donate her attention solely to him. They lost eye contact only when Gendry leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead and Arya’s eyes fluttered shut in appreciation. 

 

~!~

 

Eventually, after much needed silence and a firm kiss both lost themselves in, Gendry and Arya stood and made their way back down the tower, toward Arya’s chambers in the Keep. There was no question about where either would be tonight; Gendry’s quarters would have been just as amenable. Any room seemed suitable as long as they were together. 

 

Arya’s knights were gone but she felt safe with Gendry and when she locked the door behind them she did so as one last nod to the world they’d kept out for too many moons now. Arya waited for a moment, feeling the vibration and hearing the sound of the lock settling into its latch. The metal upon wood created a certain harmony that had her eyes closing, one that unfortunately allowed the exhaustion and the ache from the day settle into her bones. To think that she could have slept without him was foolish, just as foolish as it had been to think she’d gone far enough for him not to be able to find her. As Gendry stood in front of her now, Arya realized he was her single constant. Even when he went back to King’s Landing and she was with the Hound, both unknowingly waiting on the other despite not knowing a reunion was a possibility. They had always meant to be in this room or one like it, together, eventually. 

 

If it wasn’t Storm’s End it could be some other place. As Gendry kissed Arya’s lips and she savored the familiar taste of him she thought not to mention all of their other possibilities. She made special thought to disregard Sansa’s criticism. She was not stupid or stubborn or throwing this away. 

 

“It’s not never, it’s just not right now,” she told him as Gendry once again swept her up in his arms and passionately seized her lips. It was all done so blindly, with Arya trusting Gendry to hold her weight as she moved on tip-toes, spinning into him as they made their way back toward the bed. 

 

Too many layers separated them and their usual hunger was a mere want now, one that could take its time as promises of the future, even an uncertain one, were reveled in because at least their uncertainty was shared. Arya moved tentatively, unlacing Gendry’s doublet, then getting on her knees to rid him of his boots. Her eyes were heavy and her fingertips light against his skin, as the same moon that kept them in shadow up in the tower came in through the open window and painted the bed in a patch of glowing grey. 

 

It was several minutes later when Gendry was naked and was able to help Arya out of her shift. Her hair was a mess around her shoulders and he marveled as its newfound length cascaded down around her face in haphazard waves. The sight of her before him, nearly naked, went straight to his cock and in an effort to distract himself Gendry cupped Arya’s cheeks and stole a fiery kiss. Both were breathless in the aftermath and while she attempted to steady her lungs, Gendry leaned down to kiss and suck and nip at the milky complexion of her chest. Freckles revealed themselves under his wet mouth and Arya raked her fingers through Gendry’s hair, scraping at his scalp while he loved at her arms and the swell of her still-concealed breasts. Finally he took a step back and tenderly unwrapped the bindings around her chest. Arya raised her arms as she had done when he’d disrobed her shift and they came back down only when she was fully naked and completely in Gendry’s arms as he stumbled them back upon the bed. His strong arms laid her down as if in personal offering and he just looked upon her, his own gaze lost in wonder at the sight of her waiting — trusting.

 

“What did I ever do to deserve you, Arya Stark?” he gruffed as he covered her form with his own and unapologetically took a nipple in his mouth. 

 

His other hand caressed at her hip before wandering upward to where his mouth had moved, turning the other side of her chest to an even peak. Arya hissed but her breath turned to a giggle just as her hips became reacquainted with the bed. 

 

“Everything,” she said, almost in promise. 

 

“I love you,” he mumbled as he once again captured her lips. 

 

Arya moaned, her own sentiment lost as her tongue dragged along the roof of his mouth. His own met her with a similar fervor until eventually their own hands distracted them. Gendry’s fingers had shifted from the crease of Arya’s leg to the apex of her thighs. A single extended digit slid up the center of her, causing Arya’s mouth to fall open as she rested her head back upon the pillow in surrender. Another finger joined the first one, up and down then back again until he slowly pushed past her folds with three curled fingers. His prodding was gentle, but calculated, and Gendry covered Arya with his own weight, whispering dirty things into her ear as he brought her to climax. He did not stop or even slow down when Arya’s hands attempted to hold onto the wrist he used to support the neck he kissed, seeking purchase while the orgasm he gifted her with tickled her limbs in an almost violent way. Arya keened, feeling a flood of warmth and wetness surge to her center as the final waves of her climax tore through her body. 

 

Gendry’s cock pulsed at the sight of Arya so undone and he was hard against her hip as he cradled her in his arms, stroking her cheek to bring her back to him. 

 

“Fuck…” Arya breathed out with an uninhibited laugh. With eyes still closed she sloppily kissed his stubble, realizing that for a moment she almost failed to exist. Her skin was thoroughly dotted with sweat but she couldn’t bring it in herself to move. “You’re going to have to take me like this. I don’t know if I can move,” she announced happily.

 

Gendry rubbed at her tummy in an attempt to get her to stir. Eventually she did, mustering enough energy to lazily tug at his cock, a feat that seemed almost useless considering how hard he was in her hand. 

 

“If you don’t stop…” he mumbled, or tried to, as Arya bit at his lips. “Unff,” he let out as she pulled away, now wearing a devilish smile. 

 

“I love you, Gendry Waters,” she proclaimed, causing him to join her in laughter. 

 

The pair shifted, Gendry leaning back onto the pillows Arya propped up for him as she kneeled in his lap. He felt all of her, the heat of her cunt on his stomach as she purposefully shoved her tits in his face. His hands remained on her hips, watching up until the moment she sank down on his throbbing cock. The sight and then the feel of her — tight and hot — had him moaning out. He nearly hit his head on the headboard as he dropped it back, tinglings of ecstasy already coursing through him as Arya began to ride him. 

 

Her small hands curled around his shoulders as she suckled at the sensitive skin behind his ear. Gendry’s skin tasted of sweat and soot and Arya wondered if the work he’d put in that day was staining her sheets — their sheets, she re-thought, doing so with a wide smile. 

 

“Slow down,” he grunted as all of Arya clenched around him each time she took him fully.  “Fuhhhhh,” he released, still trying to keep his composure.

 

“Let go,” Arya urged, even as she stilled herself upon his lap and just held his face to her chest, the two a mess of heaving limbs highlighted by the now descending moon. 

 

Without warning (and possibly out of spite) Gendry slammed his hips up into Arya’s, causing her to cry out. She was too tired to reprimand him, her body completely owned by his as his now was by hers. Both felt weak and sated and nothing but happiness and the slightest bit of jest could be read on their faces, even as they somehow fell back into a slower rhythm. Without the other they both would have likely collapsed down onto the featherbed but the hold Arya had on the headboard behind Gendry’s head kept them upright, and also provided for support when their shared climax finally hit. 

 

It was all sparks and blinding whiteness as the moment flashed into nothingness. The black followed, appearing to both with an almost softness, as if apologetic for the morning light it brought with it. Somehow the pair was still entangled. Gendry was still inside of Arya, admittedly one of his favorite ways to wake up, he’d once told her. Even in their nakedness, the scent of their lovemaking still heavy in the air, the tableau they created was almost innocent. Arya’s hands were placed flat to Gendry’s chest, and her head was on his shoulder, allowing him a place to lay his own. 

 

It was not minutes but at least an hour that had passed where they remained as one. When Gendry finally shifted, Arya hissed at the loss of contact but she willingly accepted the way they reacquainted, both laying on their backs atop the featherbed. Once again, Arya curled into Gendry, even going as far as to press a kiss to his cheek, then to his neck. He returned the favor, dropping a firm kiss to the crown of her head.

 

Finally, he spoke. “I can’t stay in here forever.”

 

“We should have gone to your room,” Arya replied, almost in agreement.

 

 It was easier for her to sneak out there than it was for Gendry to escape Arya’s bedchambers without being seen. If Arya’s knights had returned, the task would have the added level of discomfort as Gendry contemplated what they’d heard during their nightly watch. It was the first time they hadn’t cared who heard them. It was also the first time they’d been so openly loud. Gendry wondered then if they’d have a similar problem at Storm’s End. Just as easily, he decided he did not care. That castle would be theirs to make noise in. 

 

All at once the reality of everything rushed back in. Even hidden away in Arya’s room, this very bed their single point of safety, their talk in the tower had invited the truth in. The lock Arya set into place couldn’t rid them of all that awaited — maybe not this day or even the next, but soon. 

 

“We have to be careful,” Gendry tried again, wondering now if Arya understood.

 

She must have because she looked up to him, and leaned back to do so. The loss of her chest upon his felt cold, even with the linens pooling at their waists. “We…”

 

“We can’t be stupid,” he continued, now with eyes closed in anticipated regret. “We get so caught up but you don’t want babes and—”

 

“Hey, Gendry...Gendry!” Arya begged as she felt him slipping away from her. She moved to kneel, countering him as he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t say that,” she finally gave when the moment found its equilibrium again. 

 

“You—”

 

“I didn’t,” she gave, shaking her head. It was her turn for regret. “It’s…” She crawled over to him, wrapped her arms around him and set her chin upon his shoulder. Her knees curled up into his back but Gendry’s head remained slung down, avoiding her eyes. “It’s not never, okay? It’s just...not right now.”

 

He looked up. “I won’t force you, Arya.”

 

“No...no, of course not,” she managed, her voice soft. “It’s not. I just...it’ll be hard to build a kingdom with a babe in my belly, don’t you think?” 

 

Gendry’s eyes closed, perhaps at Arya’s mere consideration or, more likely, at the overwhelming sight of her, pregnant with his child. The stupid hope he’d been working to push down surged up within him and he couldn’t help but to smile. He pushed up off the edge of the bed and walked to Arya’s armoire to grab for clothing they’d long ago stowed away for him. He began to dress and Arya laid back, watching him ready for the day. Her hair was a knotted mess and her limbs disappeared beneath the sheets, twisting every so often like a cat unfurling beneath the sun’s rays. Still she watched Gendry, her cheeks high on her face as she took all of him in. 

 

When he was fully clothed he returned to her. He kissed her lips then stood back, finishing the laces on his shirt. “You may not want to be a lady, Arya Stark, but only a lady is allowed to lay naked in bed while the smallfolk go off to work.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this long explanation typed up but I erased it. I’m very interested to hear what everyone thinks of this chapter *without* my dumb stream of consciousness dump. So...thoughts?
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


	11. Secrets like Seeds

Arya was nervous - so nervous that she nearly considered wearing a face to complete her intended task. Each time she attempted to exit beneath the arch separating the keep from the rest of the castle she’d find herself hindered; a servant or trade would swiftly walk by with baskets or crates filled with proof of their livelihood, all in an attempt to keep Dragonstone running. Arya was overwhelmed by the company and she’d disappear back into the shadows and wait again. 

 

Finally, with a single huff Arya squared her shoulders and walked out into the sunlight. She looked around, searching for the man she’d been staring at all morning. If she waited any longer he’d be gone and her day would be wasted. Arya glanced quickly to the forge on the opposite side of the bailey before advancing. 

 

“Ser Davos?”

 

It was half question, half greeting and Arya waited as if the man she called upon had any other choice but to answer her. 

 

Davos turned away from the knights he walked with to greet the voice that called after him. “Lady...Princess Arya—”

 

“Arya will do.”

 

He rolled his lips inward. “Yes. Of course. What can I do for you, Arya?”

 

“I was told you could help me with something.”

 

Davos quirked a brow. “Oh? How can I help, m’lady?”

 

Arya didn’t correct him this time. “I...where are you headed now?”

 

“Down to the beach, m’lady. A ship has arrived from Braavos with supplies for the new city.”

 

“New city?”

 

“It’s what we’ve all taken to calling King’s Landing. We are not making repairs, we are simply rebuilding. It’s a fresh start...a new city.”

 

“Oh. Of course.” Arya nodded and breathed out a hesitant laugh. “May I accompany you then? To the shore, I mean.” 

 

Davos thought for a moment. “I don’t see why that would be a problem.” He looked around. “Your knights—”

 

“Have been dismissed.”

 

Davos smirked. “For the day?”

 

Arya beamed but her smile was tight-lipped. “Sure.” 

 

Davos couldn’t help but laugh. With his hands behind his back he set off, moving in a leisurely manner with Arya, her own limbs stiff and her chin held high, following beside him while the knights flanked them at the front and back. Everyone seemed to be staring and for a moment work ceased as each trade took the time to look upon the princess. 

 

From his position in the smithy, even Gendry had to take a step back and watch. He wiped his hands on his apron and wore an amused grin at the sight of the same woman he’d left naked in bed now walking through the courtyard with an unshakeable amount of confidence. He turned away, nearly laughing to himself while everyone else continued to admire Arya.

 

The group made their way around the perimeter of the courtyard as if they were on parade. Arya ignored their stares by showing interest in each planned stop, remembering that this too was part of her plan. 

 

_ Did the baker have enough flour? _

 

_ What was the status of the plans for the New City’s orphanage? _

 

_ Could  _ this family _ or  _ that family _ have assistance in getting back to their homeland?  _

 

_ How was the construction of the new Sept coming along? _

 

_ For the northerners that wished to remain in the New City to serve their King, would a new Godswood be built? _

 

_ Was the wash complete and the beds prepared for Bran’s arrival? _

 

Each inquiry brought more questions to Arya, most she didn’t have answers to. As they made their way down the stone steps leading onto the beach Arya continued to listen as Davos’ directives turned to more private matters: the very real concern of building their army back up and the emotional preparation required before Bran arrived. No one knew how everyone would react to the news of Jon abdicating to his younger brother and it was clear that those who did know were more than apprehensive. 

 

Arya, so lost in her own world since arriving in Dragonstone, was still focused on her wildflowers.

 

They carried on, starting down at the coastline where fishermen were returning from their early morning catch. They brought with them ships carrying supplies and workers to and from King’s Landing. In the distance the new city already seemed to be rebuilding itself. There was no cloud of ash above and the smell of smoke was replaced completely by the salty air. It was a bittersweet picture, the city Arya loathed so much returning to peace. 

 

“Will you be going to Storm’s End?” Arya blurted out as if her thoughts had suddenly been gifted volume. “Gendry said—“

 

“Yes. When things have settled here. Once your brother arrives from the North and the throne is secure, I promised Lord Gendry I’d pay him a visit.”

 

“You’ll stay though, won’t you?”

 

“I...we haven’t gotten that far.”

 

“He wants you to stay,” Arya mumbled quickly. “He’s shit with words but you’re important to him and...I’ll talk to him.”

 

Davos smirked. “I don’t know if Lord Gendry will need me if you’re around.”

 

Arya’s eyes widened. “Oh, I...it’s not…” She looked away, deciding silence was her best answer. 

 

“No?”

 

“I don’t know what things Gendry has told you but…” She looked over her shoulder to where the knights now trailed behind them. She made quick work of calculating the distance between them. “Nothing is final,” she whispered as she turned back to Davos.

 

“Nothing in life is ever final, m’lady. If you’re waiting for certainty, I fear you’ll be waiting a long time.” 

 

Pleased with himself, Davos took a step down, his boots hitting the sand of the beach without apology. A large ship was docked far offshore with two others dotting the horizon, likely in aid or protection. When Arya looked back she noticed she was alone on the last step separating Dragonstone’s castle from the island it rested upon. With her eyes on the horizon she took a step down too and finally released the breath she wasn’t aware she had been holding.

 

~!~

 

Gendry watched Arya walk around the courtyard with a quiet, almost tentative confidence. She wore lighter clothing, linens with colors and shapes that matched the southern climate and Gendry wore a smirk as he watched her from his place in the smithy. Occasionally he’d look away to move a piece of steel or wipe his hands on his apron but his gaze would always find her again: talking to Davos, observing Sansa, avoiding Jon…

 

There were the uncertainties of course. Arya didn’t do well with standing still and occasionally, when she was meant to be observing a southern custom or learning about a local trade she instead gazed out on her surroundings with her hand curled around needle’s hilt. It wasn’t the distraction of a child but the vigilance of a woman who had been lost in a personal war from the time she was a young girl. No matter how many times everyone tried to convince her that the fighting was over, she never believed them. Wielding a sword or seeking safety was commonplace for Arya; running a castle was not. 

 

“Oi! Gendry!” Umfrey called out from his place on the other side of the forge. “Dinner!”

 

As Gendry turned around he saw one of the other smiths slapping the northern boy’s neck in reprimand. “He’s a Lord now,” he reminded in harsh whisper.

 

Hearing this, Gendry smirked. “Thanks, Umfrey.” 

 

Then, Gendry actually moved to set his hammer down so he could scrub at his hands in the tub. Each man in the forge just stared on slightly slack jawed. After two moons of asking Gendry to join the rest of the smiths for their daily meal, the blacksmith turned lord was finally acquiescing. 

 

He took a seat across from Umfrey and grabbed a bowl from the tray that had been brought out to them. The other smiths who originally teased Gendry for his stoic nature and newfound noble status grew quiet when they found his presence came with perks, the daily delivery of their stew being one of them. They didn’t know what to make of the bullheaded man, especially as of late when his lips seemed to lose their tension and fall into an almost-there smile. His mood was improved and it only encouraged the quick and meticulous work he did repairing King’s Landing. None of the men knew of his history with Dragonstone nor of the future he was planning far away from it but they assumed his motivation had something to do with these same perks — not the meal he neglected to share with them but the personal chambers he was always disappearing to. 

 

The other smiths stared at Gendry while he devoured his dinner. There was still grime beneath his fingernails and the shirt he wore was damp with sweat and steam. He looked like them and smelled like them and ate just like them. Gendry, a lord now because his father was a King, casually sat at their table as if he’d done it so many times before.

 

Gendry didn’t participate in the animated conversation between the other blacksmiths but he didn’t seem irritated by it either. At one point his eating even slowed as he listened to each of them discuss their plans - some short term and others long. There was a jovial nature between all of them Gendry hadn’t realized existed outside of his shared world with Arya. 

 

“Chataya’s was busy last night,” Gendry overheard one of the men say. 

 

He’d remembered the establishment well but had only visited it once before. He was piss drunk at the time and doing his best to erase all of the guilt he had over the manipulation he suffered at the hands of the Red Woman. He had also been trying to erase the memories of another girl then, the one he’d left behind in Riverrun — the same woman he watched walk around the courtyard with Davos who now seemed to be looking back at him. Arya squinted and Gendry’s mouth curled into a soft smile. The conversation at the table grew more animated and he remembered his surroundings, causing him to return to his meal. 

 

“Should be,” another man returned. “Only brothel open.”

 

“Only anything open, really.”

 

“Anything worth somethin’,” one of them chimed in, earning him knowing smiles from the other smiths.

 

“It was always the best one.”

 

“I thought they were all good…”

 

“You would.” 

 

“Lord Gendry,” Umfrey managed with a mouthful of bread. Gendry looked up, but only barely. “You comin’?”

 

Gendry sat back on the bench, realizing now that he had lost himself in the rest of his stew and the bowl before him was now empty. “Huh?”

 

“Chataya’s,” Umfrey explained. “This lot says its worth it. Whadya say?”

 

Gendry’s forehead creased. “Oh, I...I can’t.”

 

“He’s a lord,” an apprentice reminded. “He can’t go to brothels.”

 

“I know very little about lords,” Gendry chuckled, “But I know many nobles who go to brothels. Often. Who do you think has the coin to keep ‘em open?”

 

“You’ll come then?”

 

“No,” Gendry said with another laugh. “Can’t. Supper with the King.”

 

“ _ Supper with the King _ , he says,” a man exclaims in a haughty tone, causing everyone else to break out into laughter. For once Gendry doesn’t mind the jesting; it did sound ridiculous. The only thing that could be deemed more unrealistic was the truth: he wanted nothing more than to find Arya and steal away with her, just as he’d done every night before. 

 

“Hey Gendry,” Umfrey chimed in, a chunk of freshly bitten bread still in his mouth. “You lookin’ forward to all of that?”

 

“Supper?”

 

“No! The lord shit. The castle and the feasts and the—”

 

“No,” Gendry stated flatly. 

 

But then he thought better of it. To reject that life had been so natural for him for so many years but now that life  _ was _ his life, and his night with Arya was full of promises that made the future thrust upon him seem less scary. Thinking better of his response, he corrected himself.

 

“Well...parts,” he managed, before sipping at his ale in search of a distraction. 

 

“Which parts?”

 

“Not the brothel visits, that’s fersure!” someone answered for him, the comment followed by a few belly laughs. 

 

Gendry smirked and shook his head. “I don’t know if Storm’s End even has a brothel.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Never been,” Gendry explained.

 

“You’ve never been?”

 

“Wasn’t a lord before,” he reminded. “Am now. So no, I’ve never been.”

 

Umfrey sat forward. “Well shit...you scared?”

 

“No. Not scared. Curious, I guess.”

 

“I’d be scared,” Umfrey explained easily, as if overcome by the reality of the life that was unknown even to Gendry. Then, a new thought seemed to come to him just as quickly. “You gonna get yourself a lady?”

 

“Suppose I’ll have to.”

 

“Suppose?” a smith jeered. “If yer not goin’ to the brothel, you’d better get yourself a lady.”

 

“I...they’ll set me up with someone, I’m sure,” Gendry surmised, continuing to build onto the life he didn’t believe in. 

 

“Imagine that!” Umfrey explained, wide-eyed. “You wake up one day and find out yer a lord. You get a castle and a lass to ring your bells whenever you please. Yer a lucky bastard,” he reminded.

 

Gendry shrugged. He glanced quickly over Umfrey’s shoulder to where Arya and Davos now headed past the new portcullis toward the long line of steps leading down to the beach. When they disappeared, he looked back to Umfrey, who clearly hadn’t realized the true weight behind his declaration. “You could say that.” 

 

~!~

 

_ Nothing in life is final _ . Arya heard Davos’ words in her head as she followed the path he’d told her to take to get to her original destination. What he’d shared with her sounded a lot like the words she gave Gendry the previous night.  _ It’s not never, it’s just not right now.  _

 

It was this sentiment that she heard as she made her way into the cave toward the interruption in the rocks leading up to the hidden cliff. She heard it still as she heaved herself up onto the first step before beginning to climb. It was the loudest when she made it to the top of the steps and inhaled fresh, warm air as the sun finally shined down on her again. 

 

“It’s not never, it’s just not right now,” she whispered as her fingertips finally came into contact with the blowing wildflowers atop the peak. 

 

The field was nothing more than a plateau of wind-blown colors, massive in presence but not in size. The brightness of the yellow buds it contained was great enough for Arya to have spotted it on one of her adventures and she’d been seeking it out ever since: crimson wild roses, blue bells, elderflower and an odd mixture of wolfsbane and tansy. It was the latter blooms she traveled for but the rest of the florals were just as appealing, at least in sight. A fair amount of time passed where the wind whipped harshly around Arya, blowing her salt-laced tresses this way and that, while she picked at the wildflowers. Eventually she held an impressive bunch in her hand. Proud of her work she sat down at the edge of the cliff, using the same hands that clutched her floral bounty to keep her knees close to her chest. 

 

“Hey.”

 

Arya turned toward the voice but saw only sun. It was only when Jon was standing beside her that she saw him more clearly, all of his hair tied back off his face threatening to fall from its knot as the wind assaulted him too. 

 

“Heading in soon?”

 

Arya looked back to the coastline with a smile on her face. “Wasn’t going to, no.”

 

He sighed out as he moved to sit down beside Arya. Unlike her he leaned back on his palms and stretched his legs out in front of him, his heels nearly dropping off the cliff. “What on earth are you doing up here?”

 

Arya looked to the flowers in her hand and shrugged. “Wanted to get away for awhile. A new perspective,” she teased.

 

Jon chuckled. “You would make things difficult for yourself, wouldn’t you?”

 

Arya’s smile faded but in a way that was comforting to her. “I’m trying not to.” 

 

She thought again of the herbs she clutched at and of the man she’d left behind at the castle who caused her to need them. Hopefully Gendry would forgive her disappearance when he learned what she returned with. She also hoped he’d be amused by her tale of the time she sat atop a mountain with a King capable of ruling six kingdoms but incapable of understanding his sister was a woman who needed moon tea. 

 

“Listen, I wanted to see how you were. You know, with everything,” Jon began.

 

Arya looked to him and cocked a brow. “Everything?”

 

“With Bran arriving. With Sansa as Queen in the north. We haven’t talked much.”

 

“I’m fine,” she swore. “Just thinking about what I’ll do now.”

 

“I figured you’ve thought about it I’ve just been waiting for you to share those plans with me. Sansa said—”

 

“Sansa doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Arya grumbled.

 

“She told me you hadn’t spoken with her,” Jon responded with a laugh. “So I think she’d agree.” 

 

Arya grinned. “Where will you go then?”

 

“I have a few thoughts. Some better than others. Some days I like my options more, some days less.”

 

“You could have remained King, Jon. The people would have—”

 

“It would have been a lie. I don’t want the throne. I don’t even want to stay in King’s Landing. I just like having a purpose and I’m trying to find that again. Hopefully away from this place.”

 

“You should have never bent the knee—”

 

“Arya…”

 

“Just let me finish, alright? You’re meant to rule. That’s all I mean to say. The people loved you as King of the North. You could have that again.”

 

“No, I can’t,” Jon rebutted. “Sansa will rule better. She can. She already has. Winterfell belongs with House Stark.”

 

“You are part of House Stark, Jon.”

 

“I am. I always will be. But—”

 

“Why did you come up here then? To upset me?” Arya asked. It was clear now she was close to tears.

 

“No. Of course not. You’ve just been shut up in your room or gone completely. You disappear and I’m trying to keep that from happening permanently.”

 

“Is that what you think? That I’d just leave and not say goodbye? That I’d just hop on a ship and never return? Does that sound like me at all? After I fought so hard to get back home? Where would I go?”

 

“I don’t know. Home,” Jon conceded with a shrug. “Winterfell, I imagined.”

 

She side-eyed him. “You can’t get to Winterfell on a ship, dummy.”

 

Jon grinned. “I...I just want to make sure you won’t be alone.”

 

“I’m not alone. I have you and Sansa and Bran. I’ll always—”

 

“A girl should learn to need more than her family.”

 

“A girl is a woman now and she will need and not need who she pleases,” Arya spat.

 

Jon sighed and leaned back again. “Bran will request that you marry.”

 

“Good for him.”

 

“Don’t you want that? A family? Like your mother and father? Don’t you want children that look to you and your home the way you looked to Winterfell?”

 

_ It’s not never, it’s just not right now _ . “Perhaps,” Arya griped. She sniffled and rubbed at her nose. “Don’t you?” she tossed back.

 

“I don’t know who would marry me after all of this. I’m back to being a bastard.”

 

“You’re a King. As far as they’re concerned, you’re Ned Stark’s son and you helped to save thousands of people in both the North and the South.”

 

Jon sighed out. “I’ve thought of maybe going north of the wall—”

 

“What?” Arya seethed. “Why would you….no, you can’t!” she resolved quickly by dismissing his idea altogether. 

 

“The wildlings and I actually have a lot in common. They take care of their people and now there’s no fear of wights or issues with the Night’s Watch. I thought…” Jon’s voice quieted when he saw a single tear cascading down Arya’s cheek. The sun caught the moisture and followed its journey all the way past her chin and down her neck. Stoic, Arya continued her watch of the horizon and didn’t bother to wipe away at the sadness. 

 

“Arya?” Jon leaned forward. “Say something.”

 

She snapped her head sharply in his direction. “You want to go north of the wall? To do what? Wander with the Wildings? That sounds like exile, Jon!”

 

“I thought you’d be supportive, Arya! I’ll remind you that not everyone always approves of your plans in life either. And they won’t but I will. If you told Bran you didn’t want to get married I’d do what I could to at least postpone—”

 

“No!” Arya rejected harshly. “I thought after all of this we’d be close again. After all of this I wouldn’t have to spend my days constantly wondering where you are. When will I see you again? How will I find you?”

 

“Winterfell isn’t too far from Castle Black, Arya.”

 

All at once the tears stopped and Arya found a laugh tickling the tip of her tongue. She looked to her brother with splotchy cheeks and a bright red nose and released her disbelief. “I’m not going to Winterfell, Jon.”

 

“You’re...what?” His eyes roamed upward as Arya moved to stand. “Arya!” Jon couldn’t move fast enough. She had already made her way back toward the cave and began to climb down, her bouquet of stupid wildflowers clutched tightly in her hand.

 

~!~

 

Arya heard the news that Bran’s party had been spotted on the King’s Trail. Night was upon them and the feast the castle had been planning was now prepared for the following evening. It seemed all of Arya’s life was meant to change without her permission in the time it took for the sun to rise and fall. Everything she expected to be able to lean on for stability as she took a leap of faith into her new life at Storm’s End was crumbling around her and all she could focus on was her moon tea.

 

Slowly she removed each tansy button from its stem, adding them one by one to the jar of dried anise she’d stolen from the kitchen. The wolfsbane was next, each petal separated and dropping down into the glass with the other wildflowers. Arya went to her bedside table and grabbed for the fresh mint she’d collected in the beginning of the week. Usually she chewed on the plant in the mornings and she made a mental note to ask for more next time she was down in the kitchens so as to not run out. Returning the mint she retrieved the jar of honey she’d pushed all the way to the back. Its contents made her smile as Arya thought of the days Gendry had lathered her burned skin with the sticky substance. She also thought of the nights after when she’d healed and he coated other parts of her anyway, licking and sucking at her sweet skin. She’d need more honey too - eventually. 

 

Arya ripped at the fresh wormwood and pennyroyal, growing impatient with the complexity of her tea. Looking at her wildflower mixture, Arya sniffed and quickly retreated, sticking up her nose as she did so. It was annoyingly aromatic and she feared that the things she’d been told about the moon tea were true. Arya had heard it could be unpleasant, that for the women that managed to actually drink the mixture, many suffered from intense stomachaches afterward. Arya distracted herself with the thought of forcing Gendry to sample her tea and a smile graced her features. 

 

The kettle she hung near the fire began to shake as the water inside boiled. Arya pattered toward the roaring fire and gripped at the kettle’s handle with a thick cloth. It was already too hot in her room and the rising steam that coated her skin as she poured the water in with the crushed wildflowers felt suffocating. When certain flowers began to float and the liquid turned gold in hue, Arya returned the kettle to the hook above the fire. She peeled her night smock from her skin in an attempt to allow cold air to pass through. This was how Gendry found her as he snuck in. They’d shared supper up in the tower Arya discovered the previous night but that was many hours ago and it felt as if all of Dragonstone was fast asleep. Thankfully, it made it easy for Gendry to slip into Arya’s room unnoticed.

 

“Seven Hells, Arry, it’s burning hot in here.”

 

Arya smirked before returning her attention to her steeping tea. She stirred at the concoction with a wooden spoon. “Needed the kettle.” She stood on her toes to look down into the glass. The water was almost amber in color and the air now smelled of mint. 

 

“What is that?” Gendry asked as he began to remove his clothing so he could wash. Even amongst the scent of smoke he always seemed to bring, he could still smell the strong aroma of mint and…

 

“Moon tea.” 

 

Gendry nearly stumbled out of his breeches. He tossed them into a small pile near the door with his tunic and socks. He existed only in under pants, the skin he always tried to scrub clean down in the forge still contrasting with the stark white linen. He moved to stand beside Arya who perhaps didn’t realize he was so close until she felt him press up into her as he peered over her shoulder. 

 

He sniffed and recoiled. “Are you doing that right?”

 

Arya placed a hand to her hip in offense. “I think so! How would you know if I weren’t?”

 

“It smells foul, s’all.”

 

“It is foul,” Arya agreed, still stirring. “Want some?”

 

Gendry chuckled. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

 

“I’d enjoy it, sure,” Arya admitted. She shifted, grabbing for the cheesecloth she’d set aside but found herself unable to unfold the fabric and drape it over the other jar. “Gendry, get back here and help me.”

 

He dropped his own rag beside the bowl of fresh water Arya set out for him. Then he paced toward her, his own skin newly clean and still damp. As he reached for the cheesecloth and began to unfold it, Arya stood up on her toes and kissed his cheek. 

 

“Thank you,” she mumbled, almost embarrassed. 

 

Gendry only smiled. When the cloth was laid over the cup, he took the hot mixture from Arya’s hands and poured it atop the cloth. It caught most of the wildflowers, while the deep amber liquid dripped down into the cup. He even removed the bunched up fabric for her, allowing them both to look down to the liquid in disgust. Specs of what looked like dirt made their home at the bottom of the cup as steam rose from its surface. 

 

“This looks fucking disgusting,” Gendry repeated one last time before returning to the armoir to grab himself a new pair of under pants. 

 

“I’m making you try it,” Arya warned.

 

“Maybe some other night.”

 

“Mhm,” she mumbled before finally sipping at the liquid. It was disgusting, so disgusting that her eyes shut tightly as she swallowed it down. The honey helped but mostly it was bitter and tasteless. She hid her discomfort well as she took the tea to bed with her. Arya kneeled atop their feather mattress and watched as Gendry continued to ready himself for bed. In a way the pair had fallen into a routine, one interrupted tonight by the addition of a much-needed cup of moon tea. This could be their life in any castle and Arya knew that now. 

 

“I spent some time with Davos today.”

 

Gendry looked up, revealing a smirk. “I saw.”

 

“Why is that funny?”

 

He shook his head and walked toward the fresh bowl of water she’d set out for him. “It’s not,” he promised rather plainly before splashing the water onto his face in an attempt to rid it of its daily grime. 

 

Arya watched, distracted at first by Gendry’s shoulders and the strain of the muscles in his abdomen as he leaned over her armoire to wash his face. A trickle of water skimmed down his clavicle, all the way toward his bellybutton. Arya bit at her lip as she watched it go, sad to see it disappear below his navel. When Gendry stood up again she realized she had been silent. She also remembered the tea she clutched in her lap and took a giant sip. 

 

“Davos said that Storm’s End doesn’t have a Godswood. Did you know?”

 

“Of course not. How would I—”

 

“Right. Well they don’t. So if I’m to be joining you, I’d like one—”

 

“Of course.”

 

“There was one at one time, apparently. Your bloody uncle burned it down.”

 

“Did he?”

 

“You met him, did you not?”

 

“Barely.” Gendry waited for a rebuttal. When none came, he continued. “Hey, I was thinking—”

 

“I wanted to apologize.”

 

“What?”

 

“I didn’t...walking around today I realized...Davos knows Dragonstone so well because he used to live here. This is where you met him because this is where…” She released a shaky exhale. “It was selfish of me to want you here. I didn’t think about what this place meant to you.”

 

“You didn’t ask me to come, Arya.”

 

“But I wanted you to and you did...like you knew.”

 

“Do you want to hear something mad?”

 

Arya grinned. “Sure.”

 

“In the beginning I forgot this was the same place.”

 

“What?”

 

“I wasn’t focused on that. Pain replaces pain, y’know?” 

 

“Hmm?”

 

“It’s something Master Mott used to say. I’d get burned and instead of waiting for the blisters to heal he’d tell me to focus on collectin’ more. He was right. A new burn had me forgetting about the old pretty quickly.”

 

“That’s a terrible way of looking at things,” Arya deadpanned.

 

“I thought so at the time. I get it now. Life being shit is inevitable. Pain is inevitable. You push through the shit and the pain. You can’t concentrate on it. There will be more anyway.” Before Arya could retort, or simply share her sadness with him, Gendry continued. “Besides, I’m a much better blacksmith now. I can’t remember the last time I burned myself.” 

 

“Well, I’m sorry.”

 

“You’ve always been a welcomed distraction, Arya. I look forward to all of the other things you’ll help me forget.”

 

She narrowed her vision. “Does this make me your new pain?”

 

“Pain in my arse, sure. But that’s hardly new.” Gendry chuckled, even as Arya pushed at his chest in reprimand. But she was laughing too and she made no move to truly detach from him. “No. Your pain was my pain then. But we’re past that, I think. There will be more eventually but…” Gendry’s brow furrowed as he took her in, all of her features soft and waiting. The fidgeting woman in the courtyard was gone and the strong grip he had around her waist had very little to do with her quiet presence. “Have I told you that I’m happy?”

 

A smile tugged at Arya’s mouth and her eyes brightened. “No.”

 

“Well I—”

 

She leaned in to kiss him, her mouth firm and insistent upon his own. Already her eyes were closed and Gendry joined her there, the two getting lost in the way their lips moved as they breathed in and out together. Gendry’s hand moved up to cup Arya’s neck, his thumb running circles along her jaw as her body responded by rolling against his. When breathing grew difficult the couple detached. Arya groaned as she felt his mouth leave her but she soon sighed in contentment when he dropped his forehead down to her own. 

 

With eyes still closed, she licked at her lips and nodded. “I’m happy too.” Her eyes fluttered open and Gendry’s followed suit. Arya’s cheeks were flushed and she wore them high on her face, fighting the ever present grin she wore in Gendry’s presence. “I think I forgot what it felt like.”

 

“Happiness?”

 

Arya breathed in, all of her feeling all of him beneath her fingertips. She concentrated on the way he held her in his arms and how she could still smell the iron he’d tried to wash from his skin. All of Gendry was so familiar to her now, more familiar than Winterfell had been after the fight against the dead — more familiar than she assumed it would be now should she choose to return.

 

But she wasn’t going to Winterfell. She was going to Storm’s End. 

 

Arya nodded. “Happiness.” 

 

~!~

 

There was commotion in the courtyard loud enough to rouse Jon from the slumber he’d only recently fallen into. Sleep had not come easily to him and as he pushed up off the featherbed he blinked, attempting to adjust his eyes to the unbearably bright light of the morning sun. Either he had slept in late or Bran had arrived early. Both options felt plausible. 

 

When Jon finished getting dressed he stole a glance at the sun’s position and found it too bright to discern the hour. His morning meal was already set out at the table in his solar with extra plates for Dragonstone’s new guests. Jon had no appetite. He stuffed the letter he had written in the pocket of his breeches and grabbed for his sword and laced it around his waist before emerging out into the hallway. Two knights stood on guard, and with them a servant boy and servant girl meant to serve Jon what would be his last breakfast as King. He dismissed the children and when the knights moved to step into pace behind him, he asked for their privacy as well. 

 

“I have a matter I need to take care of before I head downstairs to greet my brother. Has Arya been by?” Each knight shook his head. “Right,” Jon sighed before trudging down the hallway. 

 

Jon didn’t know what he’d say to Arya. He couldn’t find her last night either; she didn’t come to the feast and when he went to her room after, it was empty. Her bedchambers current status, still unprotected, told him that she never returned. Or, if she did, it was brief. She was likely already in the courtyard with Bran and Sansa. 

 

Jon paused outside of her door. He had no time for second thoughts and raised his fist to rap at the thick wood. He paused but then knocked. It was a formality. With her knights gone he was merely being polite. Arya couldn’t have been inside and Jon decided on the night prior that he preferred for her not to be. He planned on leaving her the note he’d written her and allowing her to find it on her own time. It was possible that they’d make it through much of the day without her knowing it existed and when it was finally time for her to return to her chambers she could read it and become as angry as she pleased. It wouldn’t matter; Jon had planned to be gone by then. The letter was written to explain why. 

 

Jon knocked again. This time, he took a step forward, ready to push gently upon the door when the wood creaked out of its frame. It was the confirmation Jon needed; Arya had left this room long ago. It was silent and the door was ajar and he only had to meet her down in the bailey. 

 

He glanced around, up and down the hall, before taking a step inward. It was as if he planned to take something and didn’t wish to be seen. In reality, he retrieved the letter he’d written her and looked back up, searching for a place to put it where she’d be able to discover it easily. 

 

As Jon looked to the chest at the foot of Arya’s bed, he froze. Beyond the bed curtains, Jon could see movement: naked skin stretching atop soft cotton sheets. He dropped the crumpled note near the armoire then took a step backward and clumsily bumped the door. Regretfully, he looked back to the bed to see if he’d been discovered. Neither occupant, his sister Arya or the man she laid naked beside, seemed to stir. 


	12. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU to everyone who was so incredibly kind in their reviews last chapter. I genuinely thought it was the worst thing I've ever written (<\--- not hyperbole) so the positive feedback was shocking but also very, very wonderful. So again, thank you. I appreciate you all so very much.

Arya was late for Bran’s feast. She scurried in while Jon, still dressed in his King’s robe, was just starting his toast. When he instructed everyone to begin eating, he sat down and reached for his goblet, using the cup as privacy as he leaned in to his youngest sister and inquired about her tardiness.  

 

“Where were you?”

 

Arya side-eyed him as she pushed a piece of chicken around on her plate. “In the courtyard. With the children.”

 

“With the children?”

 

Arya nodded slowly. “Yes, with the children. Sword fighting. Practicing,” she said in a brighter tone. “Ser Davos helped me to make a few wooden swords for them. Some of them are quite good. The girls too.”

 

“You had girls? Fighting with swords in the bailey?”

 

“I did,” Arya confirmed, clearly unfazed. “Their mothers were watching—” 

 

“Their mothers were  _ staring _ ,” Sansa added, as she too entered the conversation. “I swear, you always have to make a spectacle,” she scoffed.

 

“I didn’t know playing with children was looked down upon.”

 

“It’s not,” Jon managed softly, reminding the feuding sisters he was still present. “Women will fight someday. I see no issue with it. Queen Daenerys—” 

 

“Had a dragon,” Sansa reminded. “She was useless with a sword.”

 

“Probably because no one ever showed her how to fight with one,” Arya countered. She then smirked as she sipped at her wine. “Will you not let women fight then, sister? Even with Ser Brienne as your Commander of the Queensguard? That seems highly hypocritical.” 

 

“Women can play other important roles in war. There’s no sense in putting them out on the battlefield to fight men twice their size. That’s foolish.”

 

“What’s foolish is believing size has anything to do with strength,” Arya chided. 

 

Sansa rolled her eyes. “If you must know, my true goal is to avoid war altogether. With our brother taking the throne for once I believe it might be a possibility.”

 

Arya shook her head and returned to her food. Most of her plate was cleared and when she was done shoving the last bite into her mouth, she swallowed it down with the remainder of wine in her chalice. “There will always be war and you’re the fool if you think otherwise,” she spat. “Now if you’ll excuse me, it looks like there’s going to be dancing…” 

 

Arya’s eyes were already trained on the far wall near the double doors where a flute player and a man with a fiddle were creating a steady tune. She slid out from her chair and walked through the rows of crowded tables to where a group was gathering, ready to join the musicians in dance. They all became a mess of limbs in lines and circles as the music grew in volume and pace. It was accompanied by laughter and Arya was lost to them, her height and plainclothes allowing her to fade in to the crowd. 

 

Jon searched for her anyway. He drank one glass of wine then two more, the party dwindling down around him as the dancing continued just outside. 

 

“Sit up straight,” Sansa finally managed with a kick to his foot beneath the table. “You look miserable.” 

 

“I am miserable,” he joked, before allowing his vision to wander back to the open door. His search had paid off. Arya appeared, dancing with cheeks the same color as the wine she drank. She was far from drunk, just inebriated enough to forget about the walls she was always so good at constructing. Sansa sat idly by, watching her sister interact with an entire group of men: Lord Gendry, Ser Podrick, Umfrey, and the two knights she knew were meant to guard Arya - the two knights that usually disappeared because she had asked them to. 

 

Jon joined Sansa in silently criticizing Arya’s company, though for entirely different reasons. _ It could have been any of them _ , he thought, all before sipping at his alcohol again. 

 

“Stop staring. People are noticing,” Sansa whispered through tight lips. 

 

“I’m not.”

 

“You are.”

 

“What would I be staring at?”

 

“Arya. You’ve been staring at her all day. She’s just been too wrapped up in her own things to notice.”

 

Jon snapped his head toward her. “She has, hasn’t she? Been distracted...”

 

“No,” Sansa said firmly, her mouth hidden behind her chalice. “I’m not having this conversation.”

 

“What do you know?”

 

Sansa finally looked to Jon. “I know she’s healed and she seems happy. That’s it.”

 

“That’s it?”

 

“That’s it,” she assured, all before moving to stand. Sansa pushed out from her chair and excused herself. She stopped only to ask Tyrion to join her. The dwarf knew he was no longer needed but he looked to Jon anyway. Even in his own distraction Jon nodded, signaling that his advisor should go. 

 

Almost immediately Jon’s attention returned to the dance floor. He saw Arya being spun around and he thought he could even hear her laugh. He watched as her hair fell down her back and he watched how she trusted the man holding her to keep her on her feet while she leaned back, enjoying that weightless feeling that sometimes accompanied music and the right amount of wine. 

The pair spun and spun with bodies dangerously close. Jon didn’t think he’d ever danced like that, and he certainly hadn’t ever moved so freely in public. When the pair came back into view, Jon recognized the man as Gendry. Together, he and Arya were almost offset from the rest of the dancers. Gendry kept a strong hand to Arya’s hip. It bunched up the tunic she wore as his fingertips dug delicately into the soft flesh of her side. Arya was smiling.  _ Arya was healed and she seemed happy _ , Sansa had said. 

Jon squinted. Arya and Gendry had stopped dancing. Their chests heaved, and as Arya stood on her toes to say something above the music, Gendry leaned down. Arya’s lips were uncomfortably close to the blacksmith’s ear, clearly prompting the smile that spread across Gendry’s face. Ironically enough he smiled more when Arya left, likely because after only a moment of pause he exited the room the same way. 

 

It never occurred to Jon that the man in Arya’s bed could have been Gendry. It didn’t occur to him because it was the obvious choice — _ too obvious _ a choice — and he didn’t want to believe someone he considered a friend would betray him like that. His sensibility, however, soon corrected him. Arya had let Gendry into her chambers after locking the rest of the world out. Arya had let Gendry…

 

Jon was nauseous with rage.

 

~!~

 

"Sideface, idiot," Arya taunted. Ready to spar, she had one hand held in a fist behind her back as she rocked her weight from one foot to the other in anticipation. Though they had yet to begin, the mere idea of Gendry tossing Needle around had Arya breathless.

 

"You're right," Gendry mumbled, "I look like a fuckin' idiot."

 

Arya looked down to stifle a giggle. "Don't blame your shit swordsmanship on Needle." 

 

Gendry raised the steel up in the air, turning his wrist as if ask the moon to catch and display the thin blade from all angles. Gendry struggled to control what he could not sense and Needle was practically weightless in his grasp. It was a small sword even for Arya and each time he sliced the sword through the air it made no sound. It was like no other sword he'd crafted, much less used. It certainly had nothing in common with his war hammer - which he planned on teaching Arya to use just as soon as they made their way to Storm's End. 

 

"This is a child's toy," Gendry spit, as he struck the air again. A slight whistle could be heard when the wind finally stilled, but there was no force behind it. "I'm not fighting you with this. I'll break it."

 

"You break it, you're dead," she reminded, her eyebrow raised in confirmation. 

 

"Arry, if you hit this thing with that sword, I'll—”

 

Arya lunged forward and tapped at Needle with the sword she held in her hands. The steel sang out and she took a step back, falling into first position like she'd won the fight already. "You'll what? It didn't break,” she pointed, causing Gendry to look down for proof. 

 

"That was a mere—” She did it again, and this time Gendry recoiled his arm and the sound of sword on sword came as a high-pitched scrape, echoing around them. "Fuck! Stop that!"

 

Arya dropped her head back to laugh, watching as Gendry looked to Needle again now almost mystified. He wouldn't share it with her but his hand had been vibrating ever since her sword first made contact with his and now that the two had almost parried, he wondered what else the thin pointed blade could withstand.

 

"C'mon, coward!" Arya teased. "Fight—”

 

He did, and Arya mustn't have expected Gendry's sudden bravery because the force with which he hit her sword nearly sent her tumbling back. As he looked to the magical blade in his hands Arya slashed her sword through the air. Somehow Gendry was able to avoid the steel using needle's tip. The long blade kept Arya at a distance until finally he was able to shift his weight and push her back again. 

 

"You're going easy on me," Gendry managed as he attempted to catch his breath.

 

Arya was just as winded. "I'm not. I told you Needle knows what she's doing."

 

Gendry smirked and tossed the northern steel through the air. Arya effortlessly caught the weapon, her breathing even as if the protection brought her immediate comfort. "Alright,” he breathed out. “It's nothing against the sword, I just think that...a lad my size can't be carrying around a toothpick to fight."

 

"Well sometimes we don't have a choice, m’lord," Arya sassed. "Sometimes you don't get to choose your weapon and you just have to fight with what you're given."

 

"Sometimes," he agreed in laughter. "I don't think you know anything about that considering you once bullied me into making you a weapon but—”

 

"Excuse me? I did no such thing! And I've certainly had to fight with swords I wasn't familiar with!"

 

"Okay, Princess," Gendry chuckled. He took a step back and reached for the wine bag they'd brought with them. He raised the soft leather to his lips and drank, eyeing Arya while he did. Even as he swallowed the sweet wine he laughed, having to wipe his mouth on the back of his hands as a few stray droplets escaped. Before he could tease Arya again she was before him, gripping his face forcefully so she could pull him close and kiss his lips. He tasted of wine and sweat and she breathed in, her fingertips digging into the bare skin of his neck as if to ask for more of him. Her mouth was so insistent, Gendry swore he could feel his lips bruising the more she tasted him. When Arya pulled away he groaned, feeling the blood surge to his mouth. It would have also surged to another part of him, had Arya not replaced her hands with Needle's tip. The deadly point of the sword’s tip was applying pressure to the underside of his chin. If Arya moved, or he breathed, the point would have pierced the skin. 

 

"Arya..."

 

She smiled sweetly. "Yes, Gendry?"

 

"You know I was kidding…”

 

"Were you?"

 

"I was."

 

Without warning Arya removed the blade from his neck and took a step back. "Don't call me a princess," she warned cooly. 

 

Gendry chuckled. "Got it."

 

Arya threw him his sword and watched him catch it with ease. Suddenly things were even again and the same enthusiasm Arya held when they first came down to the beach slightly drunk returned. "I meant what I said," Arya continued with bite. "I want to fight." She raised Needle and waited for Gendry to follow suit.

 

He did, still wearing the smile she'd given him. "When you said fight I didn't think swords would be involved." Gendry cheeked. Instantly Arya was lunging at the air in front of him with the thin point of her blade. He blocked her advance with his much thicker sword, faking her out with a quick step forward, one that had Arya nearly toppling over when he moved and there was no sword there for her to push her weight off of.

 

“You fight dirty,” she spat, fixing her stance. 

 

Gendry laughed, almost in disbelief. “I fight to win.”

 

“You’re still a shit swordsman.”

 

He shrugged. “I work better with my hammer. I can go get it if you’d like.”

 

“Get my armor while you’re at it, then I will gladly fight you and your hammer.”

 

Gendry cackled. “Is it really a fair fight if you’re wearing armor?”

 

“If you have a  _ warhammer _ , Gendry, I think it would be. You can wear armor too if you’d like.”

 

“What fun would that be?” he jested, his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. Gendry took a step into her and Arya merely looked back, unafraid of the way his eyes were heavy lidded and his mouth was thirsty. He didn’t touch her though and unlike all of the other men that looked at Arya in this way, offended by her bravery, she wanted him too. He didn’t want to hurt her any more than she wanted to hurt him this was just easier than talking — or fucking. Pain did replace pain but it also distracted — and a blade cut the skin differently outside of war. 

 

“Mind if I join?”

 

Arya and Gendry immediately separated, causing Jon to smirk as he advanced toward the pair. Unlike them, he didn’t hold a sword but he had one fastened to his hip. He looked much as he did when Gendry first met him, an older version of the brother Arya knew as a little girl. He was no longer a King, or at least he wouldn’t be come morning. He owed nothing to anyone and yet he approached Arya and Gendry as if they were all old friends. 

 

“How long have you been standing there?” Arya laced her question with a nervous chuckle. She glanced briefly to Gendry, her eyes shifty even as they landed back upon Jon’s. 

 

“Not long,” Jon negated. “I wanted to talk to Lord Gendry about Storm’s End.”

 

“Oh, well I—”

 

Jon’s hand snapped, reaching out to grab for Arya’s forearm as she attempted to excuse herself. Suddenly her body was motionless, those same anxious orbs passing from where he gently held her arm to the scowl he seemed to be wearing. It was dark and she wondered if she were still a bit drunk. Jon clearly was. 

 

“Stay,” he insisted. 

 

Arya looked to Gendry who instinctively took a step toward the siblings. Arya saw it for what it was: his innate want to protect her. He wasn’t nervous but he sensed just how tense Arya had become. Even from far away he could feel her breathing run shallow; he could predict the tremble in her voice should she have tried to speak.

 

“Is the sword new?” Jon asked. His question was muffled as he drew his own blade from its sheath. He pointed with the weapon, all of him still so casual.

 

Gendry looked down. “Yeah, actually.”

 

“Are we preparing for a fight? Anything I should know about?” Jon laughed.  _ He wasn’t drunk _ , Arya thought.  _ He was very drunk. _

 

“Jon…” Arya almost begged. But when she moved to step forward, to stand between the men that meant the most of her, she found Jon’s own icy glare keeping her in place. 

 

“Let’s see it then,” Jon prompted. He flicked at the air with his sword, still pointing to the weapon Gendry held. 

 

Unlike Arya, Gendry was calm and mostly confused. “See it? It’s not—”

 

“Let’s see the sword, Gendry,” Jon miffed. “We’re mates, right? Like our fathers? The war’s won...soon things will return to normal. That’s what you and Arya were doing, isn’t it? Playing?  _ Messing around _ ?” 

 

Gendry chuckled, ready to tell Jon to piss off, but Jon lunged forward, giving his supposed mate no other option but to block his advance with the slant of his blade. Gendry looked down to his sword, mostly disbelieving. His attention was lost only briefly when Jon parried again, this time making no apology as he jabbed toward Gendry’s abdomen.

 

“Jon!” Arya nearly shrieked. “Enough!”

 

He didn’t hear her. He hadn’t heard much of anything she’d said to him all day. He was too distracted, all of her a mass of lies and white noise. Jon lunged one last time and instead of blocking his shot, Gendry moved forward with one of his own. As if they were strangers caught up in a street duel, the two men began to fight, giant blows delivered back and forth as Arya stood by, all of her unmoving and silent. 

 

“Jon!” she tried once more. “Whatever this is—” Her voice caught in her throat as she watched her brother retreat, blood covering the side of his steel blade. “Jon!” she bellowed. Her pupils dilated and her hands began to shake as she instantly went to Gendry. He hadn’t fallen; the gash in his side wasn’t large enough to disarm him, just deep enough to begin coating his thin tunic. 

 

The former King re-sheathed his sword, choosing now to fight only with words. “Arya’s right. You’re a shit swordsman.”

 

As Jon disappeared back into the shadows, Arya went to Gendry and helped him to sit down. “What the fuck?” she cried out, her own hand now covered in Gendry’s blood. 

 

“It’s okay, Arya, it’s—”

 

“This isn’t okay, Gendry! He fucking...my brother just assaulted you! He—”

 

“Yeah well, it’s worse than it looks, alright? I can take it.” 

 

Arya was already moving to help Gendry out of his shirt. The wound revealed itself more fully without linen to hide behind and as the pressure they applied vanished as well the blood trickling out of his cut trickled down to the waistband of his breeches. In haste Arya balled up Gendry’s shirt and placed it to his side in a weak attempt to stop the bleeding.

 

“We need to get you inside. You need wine and cloth and—”

 

“Arya, it’s fine. Just...I just need a moment, alright?”

 

Arya sat back on her haunches. “A moment, Gendry? Why are you so calm right now?”

 

“Because…because I’ve been through worse,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Because he clearly knows and...I guess if I were him I’d hate me too.”

 

“There’s no excuse for...that wasn’t Jon. I don’t know who it was but…” Arya’s voice trailed off as she watched Gendry’s attention shift back to his wound. His shirt was not yet soaked through, a good sign considering the amount of flesh Arya saw when he strained to remove the garment. The bleeding was clearly slowing down and the timbre of his laugh, even in bafflement, was still a lovely sound. 

 

“Can you stand?” 

 

“Yeah,” Gendry breathed out. “I can stand.”

 

She helped him anyway. Her hand clutched tight to his hip and Gendry winced as the pressure hit a nerve. “Shit! Sorry!” He just continued to laugh, causing Arya to look away, embarrassed. “How are we going to explain this?”

 

“We’re...we’re not. I’m not going in to the castle. I have supplies in the smithy—”

 

“Absolutely not! This could get infected.”

 

Gendry quirked a brow. “Do you not think smallfolk can clean a wound?”

 

“I know they can. I used to clear my own, remember? For several years I wouldn’t let anyone touch me. I just...I’d feel better if you came back to my chambers and—”

 

‘Do you think that’s wise? Now?”

 

Arya looked away. “Probably not,” she grumbled. 

 

“Help me get cleaned up and then you can...we can talk about how we’ll handle it in the morning. Maybe you should talk to him. I mean, if you wanted to go after him now…”

 

“No!” Arya dismissed. “Fuck no! He’s not the one bleeding, you are! And he’s pig headed and drunk and—”

 

“Jon’s been through a lot too, Arry.”

 

Arya inhaled, nearly choking on Gendry’s words. “Excuse me?”

 

“I just...you talked about how you forgot about my history with Dragonstone. It’s easy to forget but your brother...he stabbed the Queen.”

 

“He stabbed you too!” she pointed.

 

“He murdered the woman the woman he loved.”

 

“Well he was a fool for loving her in the first place! She was mad by the time she made it to Winterfell—”

 

“I’m just saying he’s lost a lot, Arry, and if he knows about us, he probably thinks he’s losing you too.”

 

“What? He’s...he’s not,” Arya managed shakily. The words had her standing still. 

 

Gendry limped as he took another step, the first without Arya’s help. “All I know is that if someone tried to take you away from me I’d do more than stab them.”

 

There was no hesitation in Gendry’s voice, no pause or beat to show a shaky conviction. Arya’s mouth went dry at the thought, especially as she held Gendry’s weight close to her own — especially as his blood coated her hands. She looked ahead, the path they walked back to the castle lit only by moonlight. Arya shook her head, likely dismissing tears, as her pace quickened. 

 

All at once she was remembering the flames and the heat and the screams. She remembered the fear as she and helpless smallfolk hid from relentless dragonfire. She remembered the mother and daughter she attempted to help, then she remembered their charred bodies when her attempt had failed. She remembered surviving and she remembered waking up. Then she remembered all the days after when she wept over the lost possibility of the life she could have started with Gendry if she had only stayed in Winterfell. 

 

Now that same man stood within her grasp, bleeding but still very much alive. Arya was still without words. She shifted her hand on Gendry’s hip in an attempt to provide him with more balance, secretly hoping it wouldn’t be her falling to her knees before they reached the castle. She was tired and she wanted to go home — if only she knew where that was. 

~!~

 

“Arya!” 

 

The youngest Stark girl appeared out from the entrance to the smithy like she’d been pushed there. In reality, it was her confusion, the alcohol wearing off, as she stood equidistant from the man she loved and the man who had stabbed him — she loved Jon once too, at least far more than she currently could. 

 

“Arya!” Sansa tried again, her dress in her hands as she walked toward her sister, a concerned look etched across her face. “What is going on?”

 

“Jon...he knows.”

 

“Knows what?”

 

“About me and Gendry. He—”

 

“I told you to be careful,” Sansa bemoaned with an eye roll.

 

“We were! We have been! He...I don’t know how he knows. He saw us and we were close but...he must have assumed and then he just lost it.” 

 

“Where did he—”

 

“He stabbed Gendry. The son of a bitch stabbed Gendry.”

 

Sansa stifled a laugh, nearly choking on the thought. “What?”

 

“He did. Bullied him into a duel like they were stupid boys playing.”

 

“Is Lord Gendry...is he alright?”

 

“He’s pretty drunk, which helps. He says he’s not in pain. He’s sleeping. Can you...would you...can you watch him?”

 

Sansa waited. “Wouldn’t it be easier for me to go find Jon? I don’t know if…”

 

“Gendry’s a lord now, you know.”

 

Sansa smirked. “So I’ve heard.”

 

Arya sighed. “He insisted  _ I _ go find Jon.”

 

Sansa pushed past her sister, still carrying her skirt as she trudged through the mud. “Men are stupid,” she called over her shoulder, the action causing Arya to finally give in and smile too. “Go find Jon. I’ll wait with your blacksmith.” 

 

It was odd then for Sansa to witness how easily Arya disappeared. Just as odd as watching a princess run through the bailey as if she were a young girl again — forever  _ Arya Underfoot.  _

 

Arya knew Jon was smarter than to enter the keep when he was so drunk. They hadn’t just defeated the army of the dead and he was no longer King. He wasn’t Hand to the Queen or former Lord Commander. Jon was just a drunk bastard boy who had traversed a thousand stone steps to stab the man he suspected was laying with his sister. They were barely a noble family in this state. Arya wondered if she’d be allowed back in the castle either. 

 

When she did find him he was hidden, sunk into the dirt just outside the stables. Anyone else passing would have thought he were a drunk servant boy. Arya liked it that way. All she ever wanted was privacy. It was one of the things she was already missing about Storm’s End - this place she had yet to go. 

 

“Get up,” Arya insisted, kicking at Jon’s thigh. 

 

His head lulled against the wooden slats of the stables but Jon ignored her. “You’re a coward,” she spat. “If you’re going to stab a man at least stick around to watch him bleed out.”

 

Jon lifted his head. “He bled out?”

 

“You’d like that,” she miffed. 

 

“I’m angry, yeah.”

 

“Yeah, well me too.”

“I’ll talk to Gendry—”

 

“You will not!”

 

“I will and it really doesn’t concern you, Arya.”

 

“Excuse me? It doesn’t concern me?” she seethed through gritted teeth. “That is—”

 

“What? Who is he to you? Tell me.”

 

“He’s...I don’t see why it matters. You’re drunk. You’ve just stabbed him. I don’t owe you anything.”

 

“Then this conversation is over with.”

 

“Then go.”

 

“I was here first. Besides, I’m enjoying my ale—”

 

“You’re drunk!” Arya screamed. With her volume she was brought to her feet and she took the canteen Jon drank from and threw it. Its glass head shattered against the opposite wall and when it landed its remaining contents poured out in uneven gulps.

 

Jon could only laugh. He watched, mostly unfazed - remembering. “Do you want to know the last time I was this deep in my cups?”

 

“No.”

 

He smirked. “If you really didn’t care you’d walk away.”

 

Arya paced, her eyes trained down on the way each boot touched down into the mud. With her arms crossed over her chest she felt unsteady on her feet, as if she was the one who was drunk. “Go on,” she finally said. 

 

She rested leaning against the same wall where his wine bag had shattered. Even towering above Jon she still felt so small. He was right; she wanted to run but she couldn’t leave him. If Gendry hadn’t insisted she wouldn’t have been here. And that was the truth, the heartbeat of it all, she would have picked Gendry over Jon.

 

“It was after the Battle...at Winterfell.” 

 

Arya smirked. She remembered too, how Gendry had pushed her away, how she’d found him later and how their inability to be apart had started this whole mess. 

 

“Dany, she…” Jon shook his head. His eyes were glassed over and he breathed through his nosy: heavy, stunted, his chest tight. “I told her I was going to tell you and Sansa about who my real mother and father are. She begged me not to.” Jon inhaled sharply. “I should have listened.”

 

Arya furrowed her brow. “What good would that have done?”

 

“She’d be here. I killed her, I...I actually killed her.” All of the guilt and hate and anger he had for his Dragon Queen and for himself bubbled over and coated his stubbled cheeks in hot tears. 

 

“Jon, it’s...it’s done. She...she was too far gone at that point. You saw what she did. You saw—”

 

“I don’t care, Arya! It still hurts! It’s still the worst thing I’ve ever done.” When Jon looked up his eyelids felt heavy, likely from the moisture coating his lashes. 

 

Arya was before him, down on one knee with her palms to his face. “She asked you to lie about who you are. To your family. Your real family,” Arya reminded. “That’s not fair.” 

 

“None of it was fair.”

 

Arya looked down to her brother. She was  _ heart _ broken and he was just broken. There was no other word to describe the man before her. It didn’t excuse the way he’d behaved earlier in the cave. It didn’t erase how judged Arya felt or how she knew this same brother to be a hypocrite. Pain did follow pain and until then, it just  _ was _ . 

 

“You’re drunk,” she said one last time. Arya rose, her face cold again. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

 

~!~

 

When Sansa entered the smithy she looked around. She’d never been inside Dragonstone’s forge, much less in this small, stuffy back room clearly meant for minimal storage. She couldn’t help but to shrug out of her wrap once inside. Gendry existed in a similar state, laying atop a cot with a thick cloth bandage held to his naked abdomen with a tightly tied cord. As she approached she realized it was a strip of cotton from a torn shirt, the same one she saw in a puddle near the foot of the bed. It was bloodstained but the cloth pressed to Gendry’s wound was not;  _ a good sign _ , Sansa thought. 

 

“Arry?”

 

Sansa squinted, then went to him. “I...no. It’s me. Lady Sansa.”

 

With his eyes closed Gendry grinned. “Sorry m’lady.” He breathed out a laugh. “I’d apologize for my state but your fuckin’ brother put a sword through my side so…” He laughed out loud then, but stopped himself with a cough that came deep from within. 

 

“I don’t...he’s...he must have seen—”

 

“I don’t blame him.”

 

Sansa scoffed. “Well he didn’t have to stab you.”

 

“Better than mistreatin’, Arry,” he managed, though his voice sounded as if he were seconds from sleep.

 

Sansa didn’t inquire about the nickname. She also didn’t bring up the conversation she’d had with Gendry many moons ago, when Arya had first arrived in Dragonstone and he was still in Winterfell. She knew this would have been their first conversation had Gendry not been legitimized. 

 

Behind them Arya entered, standing at the door while Gendry slept and Sansa tiptoed around him, looking at the tools scattered around the room, feigning interest. Finally, the eldest Stark girl sat and Arya watched this vision of her sister, all thick red hair and exposed shoulders, at her lover’s bedside. Amongst all of the chaos, the blood and the tension on what was meant to be a lovely night, Arya somehow fell back into the role of self-conscious girl. Sansa was always meant to be the one marrying a handsome prince and yet the man on the bed loved Arya and even if he weren’t in his current state, he likely would have been oblivious to Sansa anyway. 

 

Arya was lucky. She knew that now, or at least was ready to finally admit it. She was finally without secrets, at least without the one that haunted her the most. Ironically enough, it was the same thing that fueled her these past few moons. 

 

“Hey,” she whispered, finally entering as if she had only just arrived.

 

Sansa quickly stood and was already slipping back into her wrap as she countered Arya in pursuit of the exit. “He’s asleep.”

 

“I see that.”

 

“Do you want me to send the maester?”

 

“No,” Arya laughed. “He’d kill me. He’ll be fine. He’s had worse.”

 

Sansa narrowed her eyes. Then she nodded, accepting far more than Arya’s disregard of Gendry’s pain. “You’ll stay out here with him, won’t you?”

 

Arya quirked a brow. “Like you’re concerned,” she huffed.

 

“I’m not,” Sansa bit honestly. “I just mean...you’re stupid enough to spend the night out here with him.”

 

“Yes. Definitely stupid enough,” Arya said, teeming with sass. 

 

Sansa could only nod. She escaped without incident. Arya didn’t think about where she’d gone, only that she hadn’t told her sister  _ thank you _ . She appreciated her and not just because she’d watched after Gendry for a few solitary moments. Sansa did not yet know about Arya’s plans to remain South, though it was probable that she could assume now and perhaps had assumed a fortnight ago when Arya told her of the extent to which she was risking her life to be happy. Stupid and stubborn, Sansa conceded then, but happy nonetheless. 

 

Arya pressed a hand to Gendry’s forehead. When he did not stir she dabbed at the sweat on his brow, all before sliding into bed beside him. Gendry must have sensed her because he rolled his head upon his pillow and smiled. 

 

“You are so pissed,” Arya remarked, even giggling a bit.

 

“Mhm,” he nodded. “Feels good.”

 

“I’ll outdrink you when you're not suffering from a stab wound. There. You have that to look forward to.”

 

“Like you could,” Gendry mumbled. 

 

Arya turned over, curling into his side as best she could. She wanted to touch him and she did. It was innate the way she palmed at his cheek with her own clammy hand or how she ran a finger along the muscles of his chest in reminder that she was still there beside him. It ended with her head on his bicep, scared to put her weight anywhere closer to his injury. 

 

“He saw us,” she thought she heard Gendry say, just as she too was drifting toward slumber.

 

Arya blinked herself awake and lifted her head. “What?”

 

“This morning. Jon. He saw us.”

 

Arya shook her head. “No. He saw us on the beach.”

 

“I thought we were at Storm’s End. I thought I was dreaming.”

 

Arya blinked. “Gendry. You’re drunk.”

 

“I am,” he smirked, “but I remember now. I thought he was a servant. Come in to open the shutters or stoke the fire.”

 

“I don’t have shutters and it’s been much too hot for a fire—”

 

“Dreaming,” he reminded sleepily. 

 

“He’s...you were right. He’s clearly going through some things. I think he just saw us and...he snapped.”

 

There was a beat. Just as Arya was almost asleep, only because she assumed Gendry was too, did he speak up again. “I’ll take him stabbing me over burning down a city.”

 

She giggled, laughing so hard that the cot beneath them shook. In his drunken state Gendry could only smile, the grin growing wider the longer Arya lost herself in laughter. Eventually though, that slowed too, and with it, Gendry’s breathing. His whole body was relaxed beside her. Any other time the body heat radiating off of him would have annoyed Arya but here it was a comfort. Carefully she reached up and placed her hand to Gendry’s heart and she spoke, even though she knew he wouldn’t hear her.

 

“A Baratheon and a Stark started a rebellion once. Turned the world upside down. My father stood by your father.” A chill ran up her spine. “Jon will get over it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few of you asked if I was going to participate in Gendrya week. Honestly I wasn’t going to? I’d love to be a part of it, I just wasn’t particularly drawn to any of the line prompts. If you have a specific prompt you want (it can be based on those line prompts or in general!) let me know. I’d be honored to do a prompt for any one of you lovely humans. 
> 
> x.


	13. Talking And Communicating Are Two Very Different Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of you have been so incredibly wonderful lately. Some of you, especially so! And I hope those of you who have realize I am most definitely talking about you!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Enjoy! 
> 
> x.

Jon couldn’t pick his head up from his pillow. It felt unbearably heavy and each time he angled his head upward his entire body ached. Jon had fought in battles and he had experienced unimaginable amounts of pain but he’d never been as drunk as he was the night before. 

 

Begrudgingly he finally pushed up off the featherbed, his vision being met by the sun causing him a dull sting behind his eyes. Eventually his lids shut altogether. It was too bright, too early for this kind of discomfort. Now his head was pounding too and the longer he remained separate from his pillow the more intense the throbbing became. 

 

Jon released an audible groan. With palms flat to the mattress he used the barely-there strength in his arms to turn over. Immediately he pressed his fingertips to his forehead, their pads barely grazing his skin. His forehead was on fire and matched the clammy nature of the rest of his skin as it peeled away from his bed linens. Once again Jon attempted to hold his head up and this time he was successful. The pounding was so loud it was difficult to hear, especially as the warmth from the sun outside continued to spill in. He decided that whoever had opened his curtains had likely done so as punishment.

 

Another moan saw Jon sitting up. When his legs hung off his bed they too felt heavy. His muscles strained as he leaned forward, his head held up by a shaky elbow on each knee. That was when the nausea began but it remained in his belly. He almost preferred whatever it was to come up. He wanted reprieve and as he turned to glance over his shoulder he realized returning to sleep didn’t seem like an option. Sansa sat by his bed, a piece of folded parchment in her hands. 

 

“Oh good,” she stated plainly, with features that were unmoving. “You’re alive.”

 

“What day is it?” Jon managed groggily. His voice cracked.

 

Sansa paused. She pursed her lips then nodded to his bedside table where a glass of water had been poured for him. Jon paused too, knowing that pain would accompany him reaching for it but he eventually did anyway. As he sipped at the lukewarm liquid, Sansa finally answered his question.

 

“You didn’t kill the Night King,” she sassed. “You got drunk. You think I would have allowed you to waste away in bed?”

 

“I didn’t realize you allowed anything,” Jon sassed, somehow managing a small smirk in satisfaction.

 

“What’s this letter?” Sansa shoved it forward only enough for Jon to recognize his own handwriting on the paper. It was the letter he’d written for Arya. It was the letter he’d dropped in her room, the same letter that revealed her secret before the note penned inside could reveal his. 

 

He shrugged. “A mistake.”

 

“Oh? Would it have been a mistake if Arya was the only one who received it? What, were you just not going to tell the rest of us you were leaving? I mean...north of the Wall? What world do you live in where that seems like your best option?”

 

“We all have our secrets, I guess.”

 

Sansa rolled her eyes. “I don’t. I’m not allowed to. I’m going to announce my marriage to Tyrion next week, just as we discussed. Or can I suddenly keep that to myself as well?”

 

“If you’re upset about your prospects you should talk to Arya—”

 

“Why? She didn’t suggest them. You did. And you’re missing the point. I’m not at all upset about the marriage. He’s my best option—”

 

“North of the Wall is my best option.”

 

“You’re a coward,” Sansa spat unapologetically. Jon took another sip of his water. “You stabbed Lord Gendry, you know.”

 

“Lord Gendry,” Jon returned in rhythm, “deserved it. Are you aware of what he and Arya—”

 

“Yes, I have a pretty good idea of what they’ve been up to. It’s what you and the Dragon Queen got up to. What everyone else in this realm seems to get up to. None of you are special.”

 

“Well—”

 

“And if you think Arya was coerced into doing anything, you’re a fool. When has our sister ever done anything that wasn’t her idea?”

 

“She...that’s not the point.”

 

Sansa shook her head. She expelled a laugh as she stood and walked to the door. “I think that’s exactly the point.” Sansa opened the door, the metal knocker on the other side rattling as she did. “Get yourself cleaned up. The proclamation for Bran’s reign was served to the people this morning. We’ll have a feast tonight and the coronation tomorrow. Your attendance is not optional.”

 

Jon threw a wave over his shoulder in acknowledgement. In response Sansa scoffed again before leaving, shutting the door with emphasis in her wake.

 

~!~

 

Down in the smithy another bastard boy blinked himself awake. Gendry was far from being as hungover as Jon — he hadn’t drank nearly as much — but he was in a similar amount of pain. He was also confused, as it was not the sun or a bout of nausea waking him up but instead a pressure applied to his midsection. He groaned and as he tried to sit up, that same weight stopped him. 

 

“Sit still,” Arya hushed from her position straddling his hips. 

 

Gendry smirked. “Why do you have clothing on?”

 

Unamused, or in feign, Arya hid her own smile. “Enough with you. I’m looking at your wound.” 

 

“A very unfair position to wake up in.” Arya shifted so she was off of him. The heat gone, Gendry groaned again as he instantly reached out for her. “Arya…”

 

“Bleed out. See if I care.” She crawled over him too, paying no mind to the slash in his side she’d recently bandaged. As her feet reached the ground beside his cot, she straightened herself out, realizing now how unkempt she likely looked. 

 

“You know I was kidding…” His voice trailed off into a hiss as he shifted, his entire body moving upward so he too could bring his feet to the floor. “Fuck, this hurts.”

 

“It’s deep,” Arya admitted easily. “Fucker cut you good.” 

 

Gendry grinned. Sometimes the proper lady he’d known as a teenager was deeply ingrained in Arya, even when she wasn’t trying. On other days he wondered how he believed that girl existed at all. If he had it his way, Arya would forever be a proper mix of both. Most days he did have it his way. If he was lucky enough, he’d have it his way for the rest of his life. 

 

“I’m going to find Jon—”

 

“Wait, what?” Gendry sat forward, ready to stand but the pain in his side sent a sharp sting up through his arm. He reached out for his shoulder but felt only warmth. “Shit…” 

 

Arya arched a brow, almost in challenge. “What? Are you going to stop me? In this sorry state?”

 

“I...maybe I should talk to him, s’all.”

 

“You?” She scoffed, disregarding his idea completely as she hopped into her boots. “Why?”

 

“I...he thinks I’ve taken your honor…” His argument lost weight the longer Arya stared at him, her questioning glare begging for him to continue making a fool of himself. “...and shit,” Gendry finished weakly.  

 

“Well you haven’t. There was no honor to be taken. If anything, I’ll tell him how I very willingly gave away what little honor I had. I’ll tell him I told you to take off your bloody pants too if—”

 

“Please don’t.”

 

Arya smiled. “Why are you embarrassed?”

 

“Embarrassed is not the right word. He could have me killed, you know.”

 

She dropped her head back to laugh. “He wouldn’t. For all he knows we were just sleeping. He’s welcome to assume what he wants.”

 

“You were naked. I can’t fault him for assuming—”

 

“Details,” Arya dismissed with a wave. She walked to Gendry and cupped his chin, causing his lips to unwillingly pucker, making the kiss she bestowed upon him rather forceful. She paused, her eyes fluttering shut regardless. Then she let go, pushing his face back as she did. She was still smiling, perhaps wider now. “Just go about your day.”

 

“What?” Gendry shrieked. 

 

“I don’t know. What were you going to do today? Do that.” 

 

“I was hoping to get a lot done, actually. But that was before your brother put a blade through my side.”

 

Arya exhaled a laugh. “Stay in bed then. I don’t care. Whatever you do, don’t tell anyone it was the King who stabbed you.”

 

“I wouldn’t do that to Bran,” Gendry deadpanned, causing Arya to laugh out loud. 

 

She left the smithy, her hair a mess and the clothes from the previous night still tight on her form but now thoroughly wrinkled. In her absence, Gendry flopped back down on his cot. He cried out again as his reluctant skin stretched and pulled, likely staining the fresh bandage he wore. Gendry attempted steady breaths, in and out, his mind wandering to Arya and the talk she’d planned to have with Jon. He laughed at the idea just as she’d laughed at his apparent cowardice. She’d kill him or Jon before the bastards ever had the chance to fight one another again.

 

~!~

 

Arya managed a bath and a single plum for breakfast before making her way to Jon’s solar. Her journey saw her making a detour through the kitchens to bribe a servant boy into bringing food out to the smithy. She prepared a plate with bread and cheeses and even sent the boy off with a jug of ale. Arya made it clear that the boy was meant to offer the food to all of the blacksmiths, but only after he’d served Gendry. When the boy asked how he’d be able to identify Gendry Arya gave a soft smile and explained that he’d be the broad blacksmith with a pained look on his face. The servant boy didn’t pick up on Arya’s humor but she grinned anyway, enjoying her own mirth as she made her way back up the stairs in search of her brother.

 

No one stared as she went, or she’d gotten so used to their gawking she was now immune to it. Arya imagined for a moment if this was how Storm’s End would be. She and Gendry would look like two children merely playing Lord and Lady as they laughed in the halls and spent unrealistic hours locked away in their private chambers. They’d be whispered about and some might even make fun and Arya imagined telling Gendry to pay them no attention. _Let them judge or let them leave_ , she’d say, because his love would make her bold and because they both preferred not to have to rule anyway. But no one would leave because she and Gendry would be benevolent rulers and because their people would be happy and things would be peaceful. At least, that was how Arya saw things, and she’d been thinking and planning for her life at Storm’s End more than she cared to admit. 

 

If Sansa ever learned of her fantasy she’d surely laugh, but Arya had no intention of telling her sister. She honestly wasn’t even sure if she was ready to tell Gendry.

 

At Jon’s door Arya took a deep breath before walking inside. If it were any other day she would have knocked but things like decorum and respect vanished the night prior when her brother put his sword in her lover’s side. Jon didn’t deserve a knock, Arya rationalized. If he had in fact seen her and Gendry together as Gendry deduced, Arya wasn’t sure why she should afford her brother what he did not afford her: privacy, mostly. 

 

Inside, Jon stood by the window, overlooking the bailey as if he still had jurisdiction. He was dressed plainly, his dark leather and furs replaced with soft linens of a muted grey. His hair was pulled back off his face much in the way Arya used to wear hers. Now her waves fell over her shoulders and down her back and she kept them in place with a single plait to her hairline. 

 

When Jon turned to look to the visitor standing in his doorway, his shoulders dropped and his mouth turned sour. He swallowed, essentially avoiding words. Perhaps out of habit, Jon extended his arm toward one of the chairs at the table but Arya did not need an invitation. She took a seat at the large table nearest the terrace. The room was disgustingly large and there were far too many curtains, Arya noted, her nose turned upward at the excessive nature of it all. Jon didn’t seem to fit in here any more than she did. The conversation she planned to have with him now almost seemed to be arriving too late. She was overdue to leave and so it seemed was he. 

 

“You have wine?” Arya asked, not quite meeting his gaze.

 

Jon didn’t take a seat yet but he advanced toward the table Arya sat at. “I don’t. I could have—”

 

“No need,” Arya negated as she sat forward to pour herself a cup of whatever liquid filled the pitcher in the middle of the table. She sniffed her chalice before taking a sip. “Smells like piss,” she commented plainly. “But it’ll do.” 

 

Finally, Jon sat. He stared at his sister, then to where his hands curled around the arms of his chair and back again. She appeared to be even more puzzled when he looked up for a second time. Arya had visited him and yet it looked like she was waiting for him to act.

 

“I won’t apologize,” he stated, almost without thought.

 

The corners of Arya’s mouth turned upward. “The apology isn’t owed to me anyhow so that’s not what I’ve come here for.”

 

“What have you come for then?”

 

“To clear the air.”

 

“There’s no air to clear—”

 

“You stabbed Gendry,” Arya bit, her eyes wide. “There’s plenty to discuss.”

 

“Then I will discuss it with Lord Gendry—”

 

“I told you last night that you will do no such thing. You are _my_ brother. If you have something to say you should have come to me but instead you were a coward and—”

 

“I was angry, yes.”

 

“You were drunk too,” Arya reminded. “Idiot…” she added, muttering another expletive under her breath. Jon blinked and when he opened his eyes he saw Arya’s face tilted, observing him. “How’s your head?” she teased.

 

Jon groaned. “Rough.”

 

Arya smirked. “Rough?” She scoffed and took a rather large gulp of her ale. “Liar.”

 

“It hurts—”

 

“Well you look like shit so I can only imagine—”

 

Jon sat forward, placing his hands to the table. “Do you just say things to get a rise out of everyone?” 

 

“Hardly.” Arya finished her ale in a single chug and pushed the cup away. She sat leaned back in her chair and crossed her leg over the other. “How do you know about us?”

 

“Us?”

 

“I won’t admit to anything until you start talking,” Arya disregarded. “So talk.” This time her voice was curt, causing Jon to sit back and sigh. 

 

“I saw you yesterday morning. In your bedchambers.”

 

“Ha! Funny,” she sang, “I don’t remember inviting you into my chambers.”

 

“You should have locked the door then.”

 

“A princess shouldn’t have to lock her door.”

 

“Oh, you suddenly want the title? Why? To hide—”

 

“I have nothing to hide,” Arya assured plainly. “If I weren’t a princess this would all be a bit easier. It would be best if Gendry weren’t a Lord either but—”

 

“It’s good that he’s a Lord. You can wed now.”

 

Arya scoffed. “I will do no such thing and if you insist upon it, my answer will be final.” 

 

Jon quirked a brow. “Is it not final now?”

 

“There’s no need for it to be final.”

 

“When Gendry starts taking whores I imagine—” Jon’s words were cut off by Arya’s blade to his chin. She’d held the same stance the night prior when Gendry had taunted her with use of her title. But she’d kissed Gendry then and they had laughed. Now she wanted to kill Jon and was stopped only by her shock at that fact.

 

“Bite your tongue,” Arya managed instead. Still she did not withdraw her blade.

 

“It’s what Lords do.”

 

“Father didn’t. We know that now. He was faithful to my mother because he loved her.”

 

Even in his pain, Jon refused to sink so low as to insult Ned - the man he believed to be his father for most of his life. He couldn’t even insult his aunt, the same woman who had made much of childhood difficult. Jon had once hated her, as if disliking her would have made the love he wanted Ned to have for his own mother a possibility. But Ned Stark did love his mother; Ned Stark loved Lyanna Stark so much he lied for her and kept her secret as his own for almost seventeen years. He would have kept it longer — Jon was nearly twenty and three now — if he’d still been alive. 

 

“Jon?”

 

He looked up to find Arya staring back — annoyed. “I...you think he loves you?”

 

“I know he loves me.”

 

“Is that what he tells you? Because—”

 

“Is that what you told the Dragon Queen? Or the Wildling girl before her?” Arya’s voice cut like the northern winds, especially as Jon’s mind drifted to Ygritte. He hadn’t thought of his first love in so long that the mere image of her had him forgetting the shock he was meant to feel at learning Arya knew of their relationship. 

 

“We...what do you want me to say?”

 

“I want you to say you’re a hypocrite. I want you to say that you’ve laid with women—”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“That’s what this is, isn’t it? I’m your sister. My maidenhead is meant to be preserved for the man I marry. Well what if I never marry?” Before Jon could get a rebuttal out, Arya was continuing. “What if it wasn’t Gendry that took my maidenhead in the first place?”

 

Jon’s brow furrowed. “Was it not?” He feared the worst. 

 

“That’s none of your business.”

 

“Well—”

 

“It was. He’s the only man I’ve ever laid with and the only man I even intend on laying with, which is more than you can say, I’m sure.”

 

“How can you be so frank?”

 

“Because I have nothing to hide—”

 

“You clearly—”

 

“Anymore,” Arya corrected quickly. “I told you, I wouldn’t have hid any of this if I knew you wouldn’t make this big a deal out of it.”

 

“What brother wouldn’t, Arya? I let him...I practically allowed Gendry to…” 

 

“What? Defile me? Have his way with me? I’ll have you know the first time we laid together was not even in this castle so—”

 

“Enough, Arya!”

 

She sighed and sat forward. “Jon...I love you,” she tried, suddenly sounding serious, as if the woman she’d been so far was gone now. “But I love Gendry too, alright? And I’ve loved him for a long time and—”

 

“A long time?”

 

Arya nodded. She looked away, briefly to the window, then back again. Her eyes almost looked clouded, with tears or regret, Jon wasn’t sure. “I’ll tell you what you want to know. Gendry didn’t want to keep any of this a secret but if you knew...you wouldn’t have allowed him near me.”

 

“No, I wouldn’t have. You’re probably right.”

 

“I also wouldn’t have come out of my room,” Arya admitted softly, her breath almost catching in her throat as if her lips already missed the truth. 

 

Jon shook his head. “Yes you would have. Eventually.”

 

“I’m better because of him.”

 

“A man? Since when does Arya Stark allow a man—”

 

“Exactly. I _allowed_ him to help, Jon. I let Gendry in. He’s...he’s my best friend. Beyond what you think you know, please know that. I love you but you weren’t always there. You couldn’t help that but neither could I. Life took us down different paths and...I can’t be angry anymore. If it hadn’t, I wouldn’t have ever met Gendry. If your life didn’t happen the way it did, you wouldn’t have brought him back to me.”

 

“He was in King’s Landing when we met,” Jon expelled as he remembered. “Were you there?”

 

“No. But that’s where I met him too.” 

 

There was silence and when Jon leaned forward, Arya inhaled and tried again. 

 

“I watched father die, you know.”

 

“What?”

 

Arya rolled her eyes in self-admonishment. “Well, I heard it. Which is worse. I almost wish I hadn’t closed my eyes. My imagination runs wild with that sound. I still hear it…” Her words broke off into nothingness. When Jon leaned forward, as if to touch her, she continued. “Yoren cut my hair...I traveled with the Night’s Watch...pretended to be a boy. I was supposed to return North but of course that never happened...at least not until many years later.”

 

“When did you meet Gendry?”

 

Arya grinned. “Did he not tell you? Any of this?”

 

“He’s irritatingly private.”

 

Arya chuckled. “He is.” She inhaled in preparation. “I won’t share his story...that’s his to tell. But he was in the Night’s Watch too. Not too much else for a bastard boy from Flea Bottom to do. That seems to be a trend, you know.”

 

Jon grumbled. “I don’t—”

 

“It doesn’t require a comment. I only mean to say that most bastard boys remain bastard boys all their lives. They aren’t taken in by Lords. They don’t find out that their father was a King and their real mother a—”

 

“Gendry’s father was a King. Now he will be Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. And you’ll be his lady.”

 

“The Mad Queen legitimized him in an attempt to force an alliance. She used it as leverage, thinking wrongfully that Gendry wanted the title.”

 

“Does he not?”

 

Arya scowled. “We’ll get there. Don’t rush me.” 

 

Jon looked away, essentially inviting her to continue. He didn’t comment on the way Arya ignored his statement on her own supposed title. He feared another blade to his chin, wondering how many warnings an ex-King received before being gifted with the real thing. Jon had wielded Needle once; he knew what it could do. He also knew Arya, or was getting to know her again. Somehow he feared her more than he ever feared Dany or Ygritte. 

 

“...you’re not that different, you and him,” Arya finished.

 

Jon looked up, realizing now that he had lost his focus again. “He disrespected me.”

 

“He was my friend before he was yours.”

 

“Yes well our friendship isn’t the same as yours so I hardly think—”

 

“I wanted to die.”

 

Jon looked up. “What?”

 

“Locked away in my room. Before Gendry came. It reminded me of all those years ago, being terrified as I traveled with the Night’s Watch but he was with me then too. I don’t think I could have done it without him all those years ago.”

 

“Please tell me—”

 

“I’ll not disclose the details of our relationship. It is no one’s business but our own. I am telling you these things because I do respect you and I never would have lied to you if I knew you’d be rational and calm. But you wouldn’t be because you’ll always see me as a child. But I’m not a child, Jon. I haven’t been a child for a very long time.”

 

“But you’re safe now, Arya. Life is back in your control.”

 

“Exactly. And I’m choosing to spend my life with Gendry. Everything...how I feel about him...that’s my choice. Do you know how rare that is? To have a man that will let you think and speak and do as you please?”

 

“I do. I also know it’ll cause problems for him when he finally arrives to Storm’s End.”

 

“We’re still not there yet,” Arya retorted. 

 

“Yes, you keep reminding me that I’m not in control of this conversation.”

 

“You stabbed the man I love so yes, I get to make the rules right now.” 

 

Jon paused. “You love him then? Truly?”

 

“I already told you I do. Are you asking if I’m _in love_ with him? Sure, if you must know. And we’ve been secretive. No one knows.” She bit her lip. “Except for Sansa.”

 

“I—”

 

“And Ser Davos.”

 

“Wh—”

 

“And Bran too, I imagine. On account of Bran knowing everything…”

 

“He—”

 

“Where do you think I learned about the Wildling girl?”

 

Jon shook his head. “I’m trying not to give it too much thought. I’m trying not to give anything too much thought.”

 

“Yes, well…” She exhaled through a hesitant mouth. “I don’t want you to be mad at me, Jon. I promise I didn’t do any of this to hurt you. It was the opposite, actually. I will…” Another sigh. “I’ll always be your sister and I will always love you more than words can say but I’m not a child. I thought Winterfell was where I was meant to be but...it’s not. There’s too much pain there. It’ll always be home but it’s Sansa’s to rule. I don’t want a crown.”

 

“No family?”

 

“Not anytime soon.” 

 

“So what? You’ll do what? Leave? Explore? Warm Gendry’s bed when it’s convenient for you—”

 

Arya snickered. “I’ll leave. For Storm’s End. And I’ll warm Gendry’s bed every night because it will be our bed and that’s what is convenient for me. Because he is who I plan to make a home with.”

 

“He’ll need a wife. And an heir.”

 

“Mayhaps he’ll have those things one day.”

 

“Arya—”

 

“I don’t know why everyone is insisting on definites.”

 

“Are you saying you’d provide him those things? You’d be a Lady and you’d mother his children?”

 

“I told you...mayhaps.”

 

“Why delay the inevitable?”

 

Arya smiled. “Because I can. Because he can.”

 

“People will talk, Arya.”

 

“They already talk. He loves me anyway...the insane princess.”

 

“They’ll talk about him too. He has a lot to prove and—”

 

“He doesn’t want the title. He’s taking it because...he’ll be a wonderful Lord. I know he will.”

 

“And you’ll be a wonderful Lady.”

 

“What better people to rule than those who do not want to?” She smiled, a thought clearly coming to her. “It’s why I thought you should remain King.”

 

“Bran wants the crown even less than I do, if you can believe that.”

 

Arya nodded. “I know he does.” She licked her lips. “All I ever wanted is for you to be happy for me, Jon. You’re right, the world will judge because that is what it does but you’ve always been my world. Now Gendry’s my world but there’s room for two. Gendry, you, Sansa, Bran...you’re all family. You’re the ones that count. So everyone else can talk and believe what they want but none of that will matter if you’re on my side. So I need to know you’re on my side.”

 

“I’m...I’m always on your side, Arya.”

 

“Gendry’s a good man.”

 

Jon’s eyes closed for just a moment too long. “I know he is.”

 

“He makes me happy. And he takes care of me. He’s saved my life just as many times as I’ve saved his.”

 

“I’m sure…” Jon smiled.

 

“Recently. He...when he came here. He saved my life again. I know that’s probably painful to hear but it’s the truth. Gendry saved my life when it mattered most. How can I not want to spend the rest of my life with him?”

 

“Are you asking for my blessing?”

 

“No. Never. I’m asking for your acceptance and your support. I’m asking that you’ll come visit Storm’s End and that I’ll see you as much as possible.”

 

Jon looked away. “I can’t promise you anything, Arya.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Maybe I’m not ready to commit to definites either.”

 

“But I don’t see how...you can still come visit me, Jon. I can still come visit you.”

 

Jon paused. Eventually he sighed, his whole body shifting into a state of defeat. “I’d like that.”

 

Arya blinked. Her usual perception was replaced by an ache in her bones, the inevitable pain of sleeping atop Gendry on his too-small bed in the forge. “Are you mad at me? You’re judging me,” she added, almost as a guess.

 

“I’m not judging you. I admit to nothing but I won’t disagree with your accusation that I’m a hypocrite, though I’d use a different word.” With rouged cheeks, a coy Jon smiled. Arya couldn’t help but smirk too. “Have you talked of when you’ll be leaving?”

 

“No, actually. We...I think we were both enjoying living in our own little world for awhile.”

 

“The Stormlands are far from being little.”

 

“I’ve heard,” Arya grumbled.

 

“Gendry really doesn’t want the title?”

 

“He doesn’t. But he knows he can’t be with me without it.”

 

“Sure he could. If you don’t wish to be a lady—”

 

“But I am a lady. Even if I don’t want to be. Things are easier this way...as easy as they can be, at least.” 

 

Jon nodded, waiting. Finally he looked up again. “Was I blind? Did everyone see it but me?”

 

“No one saw it,” Arya disregarded, almost offended that she had to. “We were incredibly secretive. Those who do know, know because we told them.”

 

“You told Sansa? About you and Gendry?”

 

“I did.”

 

Jon chuckled. “Life really is changing, isn’t it?”

 

“She’s marrying a Lannister, so I’d say they are, yeah.”

 

His smile fell, but only slightly. “You’d be ruined if anyone found out. You were lucky.”

 

“We were lucky. For many reasons.” 

 

“I...I can do what you want, Arya. I’ll accept and support it. I’ll give you the blessing you unfortunately can’t get from your father…” A tear formed in Arya’s eye and fell from her lashline all too quickly. It was as if she were waiting for Jon to mention her parents again, as if these tears wouldn’t exist without his words and now that he spoke them, they were too willing to escape. All of her ached for release. Each fake smile had her missing the forge: missing the uncomfortable bed and the man she laid with upon it. “Please spend your nights apart until you’re ready to travel. That is my request...my condition,” Jon managed more firmly. “Do as you please in Storm’s End. I can’t control you there—”

 

“You’re kidding, right?” 

 

“I’m not,” Jon scoffed. “No, you’re not a little girl, but it’s still the North we have to protect. And the Stark name. Be sensible...hasn’t this family faced enough? Things are just starting to calm down—”

 

“And no one cares what I do!”

 

“Everyone cares, Arya! They care more than you know! That matters! You may not care about the influence you’ll have at Storm’s End but putting you there...having a Stark in the Stormlands—”

 

“I’m not going to play this game, Jon! I’m done with it! Gendry and I are both done with it! The first thing we’ll do—”

 

“If you’ve discussed ruling it hardly sounds as if you’re done with it.”

 

“We’ve discussed taking power away from the nobility and handing it down to the people. That’ll be our first edict, if you must know.” 

 

“It is Gendry’s land to do as he pleases. If you’re by his side, whether you want the influence or not, it will be there. A Stark in power in a kingdom means peace. The people trust the name...even those in the South. They know what we’re capable of. You have to protect that whether you want to or not.”

 

“I don’t.”

 

“Well it’s not an option. And it’s especially not an option while you remain in Dragonstone. You and Gendry will spend time apart and that is final.”

 

“No! We won’t!” Arya pushed away from the table, causing the chair she sat upon to nearly crash down to the floor behind her. Her voice nearly echoed around the room and Jon was speechless at its sound, or sudden lackthereof. Jon said nothing. He began clearing the papers on his desk as the pounding in his head returned, his eyes and the rest of him suddenly sensitive to the light again. “Jon!” Arya begged. She was to the door now, already reaching for the handle. The metal, even amongst all of the Southern heat, was nearly cold to the touch. A chill swept over Arya as she let the emptiness consume her. Her palms were shaking even as she flung the door open. “I don’t see how any of this is necessary.”

 

“I do. It’s...what? A fortnight? You can’t remain apart for a fortnight?”

 

“I...I don’t want to, no.”

 

“But you can. You’re not wed, Arya, and it’s not proper. Play by the rules for once, would you? For everyone’s sake? Just to make Bran’s transition into power a smooth one?”

 

“Bran doesn’t give two shits what I do!”

 

“He does and he will. This throne leaves its ruler with no choice.”

 

“I’ll leave then. I’ll go. I’ll pack my things and—”

 

“Go where?”

 

“I’ll sleep in the forge. Or out by the ocean or—”

 

“You’d honestly rather be stubborn and do those things than be apart from Gendry for a few nights? You’d give up your featherbed for him?”

 

Arya was to the door now, already reaching for the handle. “Without thought.” She swung open the door, allowing a harsh breeze to pass through. 

 

“Arya!”

 

She stopped, disregarding the implications of the threshold that stood between them. Her voice could surely be heard by any nearby help and her position with a single hand casually on the butt of her sword told Jon rather loudly that she did not care. “When I say I’m not a little girl anymore, I mean it. I’ve grown up. Just as you have. But you’re a right arse now! An insensitive wanker who cares more about this bloody crown than you’ll ever admit!”

 

“Arya…”

 

“You think I’ve changed? Well you’ve changed too. I’ll obey your stupid rule and as soon as I can prepare for my travel, I’ll leave for Storm’s End.”

 

“Gendry has to be here through the duration of the coronation. It’s not safe for him to be—”

 

“He can catch up then,” Arya stated simply. “He’s found me once. He can do it again.” 

 

Jon took a step toward the door, ready to reach out for her. His indifference faded, only to be replaced by genuine concern as he watched Arya leave him. He grabbed for her wrist but she was always quicker than him and before he could even touch her skin she had yanked her arm away, holding it up near her face like armor. “Don’t follow me,” she spat.


	14. I'll Be There

“You did what?”

 

Arya sat on Gendry’s too-small cot in the forge, her legs crossed underneath her and covered by one of his tunics. It was rolled at the elbows to allow for her to move more easily while her legs practically swam in the cotton. Her skin was pink under the pressure of the constant heat and she could only imagine how ridiculous she looked as she picked at the rough blanket she sat upon. Ultimately she was avoiding the way Gendry paced around the room in front of her. To think that they’d soon be trusted with a kingdom was beyond unfathomable — it was downright ridiculous.

 

“I told him I was leaving. And that you could catch up.”

 

Gendry looked up from where he lightly applied pressure to his side. The space where Jon had driven his blade into his skin had made no progress in healing but as the skin attempted to harden and scab over, it itched. Arya spent a considerable amount of time before that night’s feast elbowing him in the arm, reminding him not to play with the wound. He grunted and often kicked her back.

 

Gendry smirked. “Oh did you? Is that your plan then?”

 

Arya averted her gaze downward. “No. It just seemed like a thing to say at the time. I don’t want to go without you. That seems silly...going off to this place I’ve never been.”

 

“I’ve never been either,” Gendry reminded with a lopsided grin.

 

“Exactly. We should go together. Which is why I can just hide away in here until—”

 

“Are you being serious? When have you ever been good at hiding away?”

 

Arya paused. Then she blinked. “The past few moons. When you slept by my side every night and none of the castle was any the wiser. Then for a full moon before that when I didn’t leave my bedchambers. I’m actually rather skilled at hiding away, so if you—”

 

“Alright,” Gendry waved off. “It’s still a stupid idea. Why don’t you just sleep in your room? There’s no need for both of us to be uncomfortable.”

 

“I wouldn’t be uncomfortable,” she muttered quickly. “Though you bring up a good point. You should be in your bed in the keep. You need the space and—”

 

“Arya! Arya, no…” Gendry cut off. “If you think I can just sleep in the castle after what happened…”

 

“Why not? He just doesn’t want us together.”

 

“He hates me. He thinks I’ve disrespected him. The King—”

 

“Former King,” Arya corrected with a groan. 

 

“Trust me when I say that I’m safer out here. It won’t be much longer. Despite what Jon feels, I promised I’d finish a few things before I left. Why don’t you just go to your chambers and I’ll see you in the morning?”

 

“No. Absolutely not. I’m staying here.”

 

Gendry let out a breathy laugh. “You’re not thinking. You deserve a big featherbed. You deserve a room that’s not hotter than hell and covered in soot,” he said, looking around at the forge. “It’s only a few nights.”

 

“I won’t even do one night. It’s not fair. The discussion is over with, Gendry.” In emphasis, Arya laid down upon the cot and turned over so her back was to him. The sight of her shunning him had Gendry somewhere between a smirk and a frown. 

 

Slowly he went to her. Arya sensed him before she felt the straw mattress depress and when Gendry turned to place a hand to the curve of her hip all she could think was that the angle likely put strain on his wounded side. Maybe she was the one being selfish. The room was stifling and the bed was even too small for Gendry’s broad frame. If she was uncomfortable the night prior, he surely was, especially considering his compromised state. She didn’t want to be apart from him but maybe he had a point. Maybe he’d be more comfortable if—

 

“Budge over,” Gendry attempted as he gently laid back. His shoulder pushed Arya up against the wall and she arched her back as she glanced over her shoulder to look at him. When she started to sit up he stopped her with a hand to her upper arm. “Where ya going?” 

 

“Did you sleep well last night?”

 

“Slept fine. Why?”

 

“I’m just thinking that maybe this is uncomfortable for you and maybe that’s why you want me back in the castle—”

 

A loud chuckle cut Arya off. Her eyes narrowed in immediate offense but her features soon softened when she saw the grin Gendry wore. “I very selfishly do not want you in the castle, Arya. I like having you beside me. Reminds me of the Watch,” he whispered, his breath warm on her neck. “If it weren’t so bloody warm in this room I’d say we could pretend we were back at Harrenhal...or the Riverlands...or the Peach.”

 

Arya quirked a brow. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Pretending we were at the Peach…”

 

Gendry shook his head. The action had his nose nuzzling Arya’s cheek. She couldn’t help but to close her eyes at the sensation of him so close, her eyes transfixed on his adam’s apple and the stubble on his chin. “I never slept with that girl.”

 

“The whore? I know.”

 

“I didn’t do it for the same reason I told that brute you were my sister.”

 

Arya’s cheeks turned scarlet. “I get that now.” 

 

Gendry couldn’t help himself. He leaned in and captured Arya’s mouth, tasting her slowly, their lips sticky with reluctance to pull apart. When they finally did, he dropped his forehead to hers and refused to open his eyes. “I like knowing you’re safe,” he explained simply. His eyes seemed heavy when they finally opened. “I know you’re capable of protecting yourself. I just…” His brow furrowed. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever stop playing over these scenarios where you’re not here with me.”

 

Arya’s eyes widened. “Huh?”

 

“If at Winterfell something terrible happened. Or here, in King’s Landing. Even after I left with the Brotherhood all I could think about was who was going to keep you safe. We were friends, y’know? You watched my back, I watched yours. That’s how we worked and then one day I woke up and you weren’t there—”

 

“That was partially your fault,” Arya reminded.

 

Gendry nodded hesitantly, all of him wishing to disappear if only for a single moment of reprieve. “I know.” 

 

“That hurt me, you know.”

 

Another nod. “I know. Hurt me too.”

 

Arya pushed at his shoulder and the two shared a breathy laugh. All of that heartbreak seemed like child’s play now. They had fought the dead. Arya had survived dragonfire. They had lived so many lives apart it was almost surreal to think that they’d yet to live a life together. The past few moons were no more than a wish. 

 

“The morning you left for King’s Landing…”

 

Arya looked up to Gendry. “Yeah?”

 

“It’s like I knew that night that I’d never have you again. But when I woke and you were gone I was surprised?”

 

“I like to keep you guessing,” she smirked, her words laced with a light giggle.

 

Gendry didn’t laugh. “I don’t want to guess anymore, Arya. I want to know where you are. I want to know that no matter where you go, you’ll come back to me.”

 

“Are you asking if I’ll still love you if we spend a night apart? I don’t think my featherbed is comfortable enough to convince me—”

 

“Arya...” Gendry begged.

 

She nodded and with a tender palm she reached out to touch his skin. Her fingertips only barely grazed the warmth of his cheek. “I’m sorry…” Gendry went to speak but she placed a single finger to his lips, applying just the slightest amount of pressure. His eyes remained locked on hers, waiting, as she did nothing but breathe — and stare back. “It’s odd,” her voice broke through finally, “to not be running anymore. Running away from something...toward something. Being still feels...odd.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“I do feel safe with you by my side, you know. That’s why I dismissed my guards.”

 

“Oh, is it? I thought you dismissed them for a bit of privacy.”

 

Arya’s nose scrunched upward. “That too,” she squeaked. “I just wonder if this is it. Is the fighting done? Have we really fought all the wars? Can it really be this easy?”

 

“Easy?” Gendry shook his head. “I don’t know if I’d call any of this easy. I’ve essentially been exiled. You and Jon are fighting…”

 

“He stabbed you,” Arya reminded, earning her a laugh in agreement. Gendry was unsure if Arya was defending her tension with her brother or simply adding to his list.  “Well it’s still easier than it has been. It’s the easiest it has been for us.”

 

Gendry dropped his head down to her shoulder. “That’s pathetic.”

 

Arya grinned. “I can’t believe you wanted me to sleep in the Keep.”

 

“I can’t believe you thought I’d be more comfortable without you here.”

 

“I don’t want you in pain.”

 

“I’m not in pain,” Gendry promised. 

 

He somehow managed to get closer to her. The hand that was previously on her belly fell down to her thighs and to the exposed skin of her calves where the hem of his tunic curled around the muscle there. Arya nodded, almost too quickly, and so Gendry’s hands began a gentle conquest, acquainting themselves with the hot flesh beneath his own shirt. “Your skin is like fire…”

 

“I’m fine,” Arya managed, her words curt as she swallowed. A shiver tickled her spine as Gendry’s fingers continued their journey. They curled ever so lightly around her hip before ghosting over her mons, only barely touching the soft curls at the apex of her thighs. Arya cooed out. She was warm but her difficulty breathing had very little to do with the room’s temperature.

 

“We could go for a swim…” Gendry suggested. He sat up in invitation and Arya sighed as his hands left her scorching skin. 

 

Arya sat up too. All at once she was pulling at the hem of her tunic, bunching it upward and tugging as it caught on her hips so she could slip it off. In her urgency her hair matted to her face, sticking to the sweat Gendry’s touch had procured. Her chest heaved, each breath causing her abdomen to swell and release and with them her breasts rose and fell, giving Gendry the perfect opportunity to admire them with his eyes, to drink her in, before teasing the familiar flesh. 

 

Arya beamed, a simple radiance shining from her as she leaned back. She kissed Gendry and his mouth met her in fervor, the two finding a rhythm that had their upper bodies slick with perspiration. For a moment her want had Arya forgetting about Gendry’s injury, but when her fingers bumped the bandage he wore he only barely broke away from their kiss, accepting their newfound home upon the stretch of his waistband. He laughed into her mouth and ignored his own pain, bending and twisting his midsection as Arya helped push his breeches down his legs. 

 

They were both bare and exposed, with fingers that only barely knew the curves of knees and elbows and necks shaking as if they’d never been this naked before. With her arms wrapped delicately around Gendry’s neck, Arya leaned forward to laugh. “Will it be this warm in Storm’s End? I don’t know if I can—”

 

Gendry shook his head and cut her off with another searing kiss. “No. I’ve never been but I imagine we’ll have a big room...like Jon’s.” Arya couldn’t help but smile at the thought as her mind joined him there. “It’s further south, y’know. It’ll be hotter I think but the waves off the bay make for a nice breeze. The storms are constant, Davos says. But they cool things down. They also push everyone inside for a bit,” he cheeked with a love-bite to her neck. Gendry felt her stiffen beneath him and he picked up his head, suddenly concerned. “Arya?”

 

“I don’t think I like storms much.”

 

Gendry swallowed. “What?” He half expected her to run. He blinked to ensure she was real, that it was her skin his fingertips danced upon as she lay beside him. But she was unmoving and her mouth was almost as motionless. 

 

Finally: “They scare me. They’ve always scared me. We don’t get them in the north so I don’t think I ever got used to them...and they always come on so quickly. I can deal with the rain but the thunder...the lightning,” she explained, almost as if Gendry didn’t know. “It doesn’t scare you?”

 

“No,” he breathed out easily. “I’m far more scared of the responsibility I’ll have as Lord of the Stormlands, Arry.”

 

Arya forced a smile. “Of course.”

 

“Is this your way of telling me—”

 

“No! Of course not!” Her voice told Gendry that she knew. Arya always knew: his fears had been her fears since they were children. It was something that never went away, even long after he did. “You’ll not be able to travel,” Arya attempted in jest.

 

“Oh?”

 

“I don’t like sleeping alone during a thunderstorm.”

 

Gendry kissed the tip of her nose. “I don’t like the thought of you sleeping alone anyway so I’ll do my best…”

 

“We haven’t had a thunderstorm since you came, you know.”

 

He looked up. “Hmm?”

 

“Initially...when they first brought me here it rained and rained. I couldn’t sleep and each time I tried...the rainstorms turned violent. The lightning would light up my room at night and each time I thought I was finally falling asleep there’d be a crack of thunder and I’d have to start all over again. They were always followed by nightmares...once I did fall asleep.”

 

Gendry smirked. “We’ve had storms.”

 

“What?” 

 

“Yeah. A few of them. One last week, actually. You slept right through them. All of them.” 

 

“What? No, I…” She looked to him but his features did not shift to show a lie. “No. That can’t be.”

 

“I promise it is. I watch you sleep a lot, you know.”

 

Arya snickered. “Do you? Creep,” she jabbed, pushing at his shoulder.

 

“I actually always wondered how you slept through the storms. You’re right...some were violent but there you were, dead asleep.”

 

“Don’t say dead…”

 

Gendry rolled his lips inward. “You looked beautiful. You looked calm. I was jealous because the rain kept me awake and you looked so damn peaceful...sometimes more peaceful than you looked awake. You know, with me there.”

 

Arya shook her head. It was slow at first, the idea coming to her like sun peeking out from a cloud. “You were there though.”

 

“But you were asleep.”

 

Arya’s mouth pursed, fighting a toothy grin. “I slept because of you.” Then: “I slept _well_ because of you.”

 

Gendry’s mouth opened but no words spilled out. He closed it again, wondering what to say. Beneath him Arya shifted. Her hips bumped his hips and Gendry groaned at the sensation. Arya only loosened the grip her fingernails had, scraping at the nape of his neck. The sweltering temperature in the room dissipated or perhaps the pair was so distracted by their discovery that they didn’t realize the oppressive warmth that continued to surround them.  The heat was nothing more than a storm Arya was ignorant to. She’d become accustomed to it with Gendry in her arms. The storms would be next until thunder and lightning finally felt like home. 

 

“Jon doesn’t know what he’s asking,” Arya whispered. “It’s not fair.”

 

~!~

 

It was dark when Arya awoke and the sheets she slept upon were cooler than they had been. There was no sunlight outside, not even dusk, and yet she heard Gendry moving about in the too-small room. As she turned over in bed she made no gesture to cover herself up. It was one of Gendry’s favorite views, he had told her. He thought she was beautiful with tousled hair and an exposed chest. He liked her naked because she liked to be naked - because she felt comfortable being naked around him as if her flesh were a gift she was all too willing to give. 

 

“Gendry?”

 

He looked to her, a smirk gracing his features. He was stepping into a fresh pair of breeches, a destination clearly on his mind. 

 

Arya sat forward and swung her legs off the bed. “Where are you going?”

 

“To work.”

 

“Why are you sneaking out?” She inquired, wearing a grin of her own. “As soon as you start pounding that hammer of yours I’d have woken.”

 

“I need to get a few things done.” Before Arya could inquire, he continued. He hadn’t cut her off because she hadn’t yet spoken but he’d clearly interrupted her thoughts. “I want to go talk to Jon—“

 

“What? Absolutely not!”

 

“What? Arya—”

 

“I said no, Gendry! What part of that is hard to understand?”

 

“The part…” For a moment he considered dropping it. “Jon and I were friends and our friendship meant a lot to me.”

 

“More than us?”

 

“Of course not! But that’s the point. He needs to know how I feel about you.”

 

“That’s none of his business!”

 

“It is though, Arry,” Gendry sighed out. “He thinks...he thinks you I think you were just a fuck and you weren’t. He thinks I took advantage of you and—”

 

“You didn’t.”

 

“He needs to know that I...I love you. I didn’t do what I did to betray him. I did what I did because the thought of you in pain makes me hurt. I need to apologize but—”

 

“You really don’t. Again, he stabbed you.”

 

“I begged to see you because I thought I could help.”

 

“And you did.”

 

“I know. But he didn’t think I’d be able to because he had no idea about us so yeah I guess I did betray him. I definitely lied to him. Just...can you let me do this please?”

 

Arya looked to the window. A heavy exhale left her lips as she dragged her fingers through her unruly hair in a poor attempt at taming it. “Whatever.”

 

Gendry shook his head. “Don’t be a brat.”

 

“Excuse me?” She was brought to her feet in outrage. This time she did hold the sheet to her chest, causing it to billow around her form like a backwards cape. “Take it back!”

 

“I won’t,” he gave with a laugh. “I won’t apologize for how I feel about you. I won’t apologize for the fact that my lying got you to open your door. I honestly won’t even apologize for spending my nights with you. He needs to know what you mean to me. That’s important to me. So please, be supportive alright?”

 

Arya collapsed again. “Fine.”

 

Gendry rolled his eyes heavenward. He was fully dressed now and as he approached her he could smell the soap on his skin. He bent down and demanded a kiss. Arya gave in rather easily. She couldn’t be mad at him. Sometimes she wanted to tell the world just how much she loved Gendry but oftentimes she feared that to speak it out loud would be to threaten the truth. She couldn’t afford to lose him and she didn’t need to listen to the doubt others would surely have. Her heart wouldn’t be able to handle Jon’s disapproval. A relationship between Gendry and Jon meant more to her than she could fathom. 

 

After tasting her lips, Gendry cupped her face and placed a firm kiss to her forehead. “Trust me, alright?”

 

“I do,” She grumbled. 

 

“And get dressed please. Umfrey’s been showing up before the sun. I think he’d be too scared to say anything but that doesn’t mean I want him seeing you.”

 

“You do know that most men don’t—”

 

“You’re blind. I had to listen to those fucks talk about you for months and I couldn’t say a word…” He paused. “You know what? Walk out of here proudly. Maybe then they’ll shut their mouths—”

 

“People are fascinated by what they can’t understand,” Arya dismissed. “It’s like dragon fire. It’s beautiful until it burns you.”

 

“Or kills you,” Gendry said, almost proudly. He kissed the crown of her head and walked for the door. “Suns coming up soon. Sneak out the back and enjoy a kip for me up in that bed of yours.”

 

“S’not my bed anymore. This is my bed.”

 

“Then play pretend. Make a show of exiting your room so others think you spent the night there…”

 

Arya stood and instantly pulled on her tunic. “You want me to lie to everyone while you go to Jon and apologize for lying?”

 

Gendry thought for a moment. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’d like you to do.”

 

~!~

 

By the time Gendry broke his fast he had already completed a substantial amount of the day’s work. Umfrey did arrive to work early and by then Arya had already made her way inside the castle. For a brief moment Gendry pictured her sprawled out in her featherbed, content with the space and softness of her sheets almost dramatically so, as if she could only give in to the comfort when he was not around. She was stubborn but so was he and Gendry’s heart selfishly swelled with pride at the thought that Arya liked sleeping beside him as much as he liked sleeping beside her. It went a step further; she needed it — a thought that was as invigorating as it was terrifying. 

 

“Hey Gendry!” Umfrey called out as he approached the blacksmith. “I…” His voice sputtered off. “Shit, what happened to you?”

 

Gendry looked down to where a bit of blood had made its way through his bandaged side and onto the linen of his shirt. Thankfully it was covered mostly by the smoke and iron that stained the rest of his clothes and his skin. 

 

“Oh, that’s…”

 

“Lord Gendry?” 

 

Both men were pulled out of their moment. Gendry was thankful for the interruption and he let out a smile in relief when he saw it was Davos who stood just outside the forge, beckoning him.

 

“The King wishes to speak with you.”

 

Umfrey straightened his spine as if it were him being summoned. Gendry didn’t bother excusing himself. Umfrey was too kind to care and the boy was raised much as he was: lacking social etiquette in exchange for the skills needed to survive the day. 

 

“Good luck!” Umfrey called out, as if he knew what awaited Gendry. But Gendry didn’t even know what awaited Gendry. He wanted to request an audience with Jon but hadn’t yet had the chance to speak to Davos or Tyrion to do so. Though, he rationalized as he and Davos began to climb the steps of the Keep, it was assuring to know that others were aware of this meeting. He didn’t have a sword to defend himself and if the previous night was any indicator, the weapon wouldn’t be much help to him anyway.

 

“Do you know what happened?” Gendry finally asked with a whisper toward Davos.

 

The smuggler barely looked to the boy — a man now, he reasoned. “Yes, of course I know what happened. I told you—”

 

“I know what you told me,” Gendry waved off. “I don’t listen. I’ve never listened. I’ve made a mistake,” he continued in a dull tone as if reading from a list. “I’m stupid…” He shrugged, almost accepting that fact as his own. 

 

Davos merely shook his head. “You constantly have good intentions, your execution is poor.”

 

“I wasn’t the one who put a sword through someone’s side.”

 

“Yes well he’s the King, you see, so—”

 

“He’s actually not anymore.”

 

“You don’t just stop being King, Gendry. You may lose a title but many of the smallfolk believe Jon Snow is their savior.”

 

Gendry scoffed out a laugh. “Not when it comes to this. I am not a villager come to express my grievances or show my support. We’re here to discuss family.”

 

“It’s his family, first and foremost.”

 

“Arya’s my family too,” Gendry said strongly. “If everyone would start seeing that—”

 

“They can’t see what you’ve kept hidden.”

 

“Well she’s coming to Storm’s End. I don’t see why it matters…”

 

“It matters because these things matter, Gendry. When you have money and power you have time to care about all of this. There are rules that must be adhered to. I know you’re not always fond of those but this world will soon be your world so you might as well—”

 

“This world will never be my world.” 

 

The pair was at the top of the step but Gendry was so involved in his banter that he didn’t notice Davos had stopped. It sent him stumbling back, his weight nearly pushing him down to the step below and possibly further. He put his hands to the stone wall for support. 

 

“You know I am always on your side, Gendry, but I specifically warned against all of this. You know how Arya and Jon are. I know you think Arya is untouchable but she’s still his sister and that takes precedence over any friendship you believe you and Jon ever had. If you want my advice, be calm and take the anger. And stay away from the girl. At least until things calm down.”

 

As the knights from the kingsguard stepped aside to grant Davos entry into Jon’s solar, Gendry thought of Arya in her bed. He then thought of Arya in his bed, then of her in the cot they shared just last night. 

 

The door opened and Davos walked in. Gendry trailed behind, suddenly finding himself with an unshakeable confidence. It was not blind as it once had been when he entered this room, ready to request permission to see Arya. Jon had met his question with a laugh then and then the King laughed again when he learned Gendry was successful in his pursuits. That was far too many moons ago. Gendry was a mere blacksmith then - confused, unsure, and eager. Davos was right, his title as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands was stronger armor than Gendry could ever construct with steel. 

 

“Sit,” Jon instructed with a hand outstretched to one of the chairs nearest his desk. 

 

Gendry glanced to the seat then back to the King. In his reverie he missed everyone else exiting. It was just him and Jon in the quiet room, a breeze blowing in behind them.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

Jon moved to stand on the other side of the desk. He tried again: “Sit.”

 

This time Gendry didn’t look to the chair. “I’ll stand, thanks.” He almost smiled.

 

With a sigh, Jon leaned back upon the ledge of the table, his arms crossed over his chest. “Go on,” he nodded.

 

“I don’t think I need to tell you why I’m here.”

 

“I’m hoping it’s to ask for my sister’s hand in marriage.”

 

Gendry nearly laughed. “It’s not.”

 

“Because you don’t love her? I hardly see how that’s of any consequence now.”

 

“I do love her. I love her very much. But she doesn’t want that right now and because of that neither do I.”

 

“Right now? So you’ve discussed it?” The bit of surprise truth had Jon back on both his feet. 

 

“To some extent, sure.” 

 

“Arya tells me this started in Winterfell. So you lied to me?”

 

“It started before Winterfell.”

 

“So _she_ lied to me?”

 

“I only mean...we’ve known each other for a long time. Since we were practically children. I care about your sister very much.”

 

“But you lied to me. You came here for what, Gendry? To—” 

 

“To see Arya. To be with her. To help.”

 

“Do you think in her state all of this has helped?”

 

“She’s a strong woman.”

 

“Answer the question.”

 

“Yes. I do,” Gendry dismissed with a temper that threatened to flare. “So if you’re saying that I took advantage of—”

 

“Didn’t you?”

 

“No. I didn’t,” Gendry managed through a tight jaw.

 

“I can’t believe I’ve allowed you to stay here. In my castle. Our home. And I was so blind...”

 

“She would have told you if she knew you’d react differently.”

 

“What way is a brother meant to react when he learns his baby sister is being defiled? Under his nose?”

 

Gendry laughed and turned away. In an attempt to swallow down words he knew he’d regret, he wiped at his mouth to distract his tongue. “Piss off,” he said, only a fraction of what he wanted to say spilling out without apology. 

 

“What?”

 

“You know me, Jon. You know what I’ve done. You know I’m loyal. I love your sister. That’s it. I’ll refrain from seeing her in private until we’re ready to leave if that’s truly what you want. Though I can’t say she’ll allow it—”

 

Jon blinked. “We?”

 

“She suggested heading for Storm’s End. Just as you had.”

 

“She’s using you to run away.”

 

“We both know she’s perfectly capable of leaving on her own. She doesn’t need me. She could just as easily go back to Winterfell or Braavos or—”

 

“Braavos?” 

 

Gendry sighed. “There’s a lot she has to tell you. I hope she gets the chance. I don’t have a family but she does and I know you mean everything to her. You’ve both lost a lot. Don’t let your pride push her away.”

 

Jon moved back around to the other side of the desk. His eyes glanced to the papers spread across the wooden top. “You’re a lord now, Gendry. You could get married. You’ve both made this more difficult than it had to be.”

 

“Arya was going through a lot. I wasn’t going to add to it by introducing this title she doesn’t want—”

 

“It’s a title she was born with. It doesn’t matter if she wants it or not. It’s who she is.”

 

“It’s not,” Gendry negated firmly. “Not in the usual sense. It’s not who I am either. But we’re going to figure it out together.”

 

“Then ask for her hand in marriage,” he demanded with syncopation. 

 

It was Gendry’s turn to laugh. “Despite what everyone seems to think, I’m not an idiot.”

 

Jon’s brow furrowed. “Well maybe I am because I don’t follow.”

 

“Your sister will sooner chop off my cock than marry me.” 

 

“Why not?”

 

“She’s not ready to marry.” Gendry shrugged, dismissing the question because the answer was so obvious.

 

“You’ll have to marry.”

 

“I’ll be forced into nothing. Her and I have that in common.”

 

“You need an heir.”

 

“I imagine she’ll give me an heir someday. Just like she’ll marry me...someday. I don’t know why everything is so urgent. There’s no war anymore. Isn’t this what we always wanted? To be able to look past tomorrow without fear?”

 

“I wish you’d marry—” 

 

“Yeah, well—”

 

Jon released his weight from the desk and stood up again. “I need you to look after her. I’d trust that more if you were wed.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’m going away. Possibly forever. I told her, or tried to, but she seemed to think I was kidding.”

 

“Away? Where are you going?”

 

“Away,” he repeated as if it were a different answer, maybe even an elaboration on the original. “North.”

 

Gendry’s cheeks flushed in panic. “I told Arya I’d give up the Stormlands for her. Maybe—”

 

“No. She can’t come. I don’t want her to come. I thought about it but...it didn’t feel right and that was before I knew about you. Now I couldn’t ask that of her. She wouldn’t come anyway. Besides, I’ve made my decisions and now I need to deal with the consequences. If she wants me to accept the life she’s chosen she needs to respect my wishes as well.”

 

“That’s...fair, I suppose.”

 

“She won’t take the news well. I know she won’t.”

 

“Would you? If you learned she was going away? Possibly forever?”

 

“She is going away. Not possibly forever but forever.”

 

Gendry’s jaw tightened. “She’s moving to Storm’s End but she’ll be free to travel as she pleases. Anytime she wants to return to Winterfell...we’ll go together.”

 

“I’m glad to hear that Arya will have that freedom. I want that for her. It’s what she deserves. But it’s not for me.” Jon swallowed. “Did she tell you who my mother and father are?”

 

Gendry’s own grin faltered. “What?”

 

“My mother and father—”

 

“Is Ned Stark.”

 

“It’s not,” Jon said, feigning conviction. “He’ll always be my father but he’s not the man who fathered me.” 

 

“I...”

 

“My father was Rhaegar Targaryen. My mother was Lyanna Stark.”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s...there are details I can’t disclose. I don’t even have all of them. All I know is that if anyone is to learn of my true parentage I’m not safe. They’ll either try to assassinate me or they’ll insist I take back the throne. I don’t want either.”

 

“Then no one has to know.”

 

“Life in the seven kingdoms doesn’t work that way. You know it. I know it.”

 

“Why are you...why did you tell me?”

 

“You may have been friends with my sister first but you and I were still friends. Weren’t we?”

 

“I always thought so. I didn’t think you felt the same. Especially not after finding about me and Arya.”

 

“You were a good friend, Gendry. And Arya says you’re a good man...but I didn’t need to hear that from her. I know you are. It’s why I need you to promise me you will look after her and protect her and provide for her in the best way possible.”

 

“We’ll provide for one another.”

 

“I don’t doubt it. And so be it. I just can’t do it anymore. I haven’t done it for a very long time but...it’s not my role to have. I was merely holding the spot until you came along, apparently.”

 

“She needs her brother.”

 

“She needs you more.”

 

“I disagree.”

 

“It’s not up for debate. Arya has done the impossible...just as she always has. She’s found a man that loves and respects her. She’s going to marry for love...eventually,” he added. 

 

“What a concept,” Gendry quipped. 

 

“So you’ll do it? You’ll look after her?”

 

“I’ll...I’m choosing to spend the rest of my days with her. I’m not her keeper. I’m—”

 

“She says you’re her best friend. Isn’t that what best friends do? Look out for one another?”

 

“Yes. Of course. Always.”

 

“I know you’ve done it before. I trust you to do it again. Forever now.”

 

Gendry’s resolve shifted. “She’s going to be angry. She’s going to hate you.”

 

“That’s okay. I told her I supported her. I told her I was happy for her. I just hope someday she’ll be happy for me too. Even if it hurts right now.”

 

“You really have to go?”

 

“I do.”

 

“And if she doesn’t forgive you?”

 

“She will. She is stubborn like her mother but she has her father’s heart. She’ll forgive me. And until then you’ll be by her side.”

 

“I’ll be by her side after too,” he declared proudly. 

 

“Good. I hope that’s true.” Jon looked to the window then back again, a smirk slowly tugging at his cheeks. “How’s _your side_?” 

 

Gendry was thankful for the reprieve. “Doesn’t hurts as much as my pride. You’ve only helped Arya prove that I’m shit with a sword.”

 

“Ahh, but I’ve seen you with a hammer.”

 

“I have her too. Who needs a sword when Arya Stark is your wife?”

 

Jon laughed. “I suppose that’s true too...you both deserve the future you’ll have.”

 

Gendry nods. “Thank you.” Jon said nothing else so Gendry walked to the door. It was much less somber than his entrance, even more so considering he was taking the quick journey alone. With his hand to the knob he turned back to Jon, contemplating a final glance before dismissing himself. Instead: “I’m happy that you think of me as a friend. You were always a friend to me...a good friend. Arya will miss you most but I’ll miss you too.” 

 

“Even if I stabbed you?” Jon inquired.

 

Gendry considered leaving without a response but he remained and even smirked. “I told you, I’ve never really had a family before. Are you telling me that sort of thing isn’t normal?”

 

~!~ 

 

Gendry was still smiling when he returned to the courtyard, a trait that was encouraged when he returned to the smithy and saw Umfrey standing close to the forge. As was typical, the northern boy had a tool in his hand and a somewhat silly grin on his face, but he made no motion toward any of the surrounding steel. As he moved to the side, his smile grew. Gendry’s did too, seeing that it was Arya the apprentice was speaking to.

 

“Lord Gendry!” Umfrey greeted. “Princess Arya is going to Storm’s End. Did you know?”

 

Gendry raised a brow in question. Arya’s featured mimicked his own, almost in challenge. He decided to laugh and play along as he turned back to Umfrey, doing his best to ignore just how badly he wished to disappear with the princess in question. 

 

“I did,” he confirmed. 

 

“Go on,” Arya encouraged, tapping at Umfrey’s boot with the toe of her own. 

 

Gendry noticed the reaction and looked back to Umfrey. “What is it?”

 

“This morning, before Ser Davos called for you I was going to see...I wanted…”

 

Arya leaned forward, waiting. Umfrey finally shook his head and she laughed at the permission the blacksmith granted her. Despite her amusement, she was proud of Umfrey for his attempt. She imagined this was a conversation she’d have with Gendry that night before bed. 

 

She sighed. “Umfrey would like to know if he can join us in Storm’s End.” 

 

Gendry’s face brightened. “Uh...sure. I mean, it’s not the North, you know.”

 

“M’not made for the North. Too cold,” Umfrey easily explained. “I like it down here. I like working in the smithy with you lot.”

 

“I...well I’m afraid I won’t be in the smithy too much,” Gendry reminded. 

 

“Well, right, which is why I was hoping that you’d get me trained up and maybe I could help out? Storm’s End has a forge, don’t they?”

 

“If they don’t we’ll be needing to build one.”

 

Umfrey’s eyes widened. “I could help with that too.” 

 

Gendry laughed and he looked down to Arya who wore a similar expression. The deep wound on his side still itched as he stretched but he tried not to focus on it. It helped that Arya had her arm wrapped around his waist and the two stood as a single unit, openly ignorant to the attention the action might procure, and clearly not caring either way. Gendry wanted nothing more than to take Arya’s face in his hands and kiss her lips. He wanted to carry her to bed just as much as he wanted to put her on a horse and ride off to Storm’s End with her. But the pair was in public and, as Davos had reminded, the world Gendry once knew that had he and Arya as children scuffling on the floor of a smithy much like this one, was nothing more than a fond memory. 

 

“We’d love to have you,” Gendry confirmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiii! Writing this chapter it felt very much like a final chapter which is weird considering I didn’t plan it to be. I know what the true Epilogue chapter will be and I have a few scenes planned for in between. Many of you have mentioned looking forward to their time at Storm’s End which — sorry!!! — is the one thing I actually wasn’t going to write about. Not because I don’t want to but because theres only one true plot I’d want to explore and it’d feel silly getting into it when there are so many stories that do that entire adventure much more justice than I ever could. HOWEVER what I do want to do is open it up to prompts - things you want to see there or while they’re still in Dragonstone. Leave me a comment or reach out to me on tumblr (I turned my anon feature back on) if you have any specific requests. If not I will forge on with what I originally had planned.


	15. "Go then. Be free."

Gendry had an overall distaste for nobility but he found he didn’t mind Bran.  _ King Bran _ , Davos would correct, earning him a snicker from a nearby Arya.  _ Bran the Broken _ . The  _ Three-Eyed Raven _ . Gendry nearly rolled his eyes at all the implications. He no more believed in divine right than he did in his own right to inherit the Stormlands. But Bran was quiet and kind and albeit unfortunately peculiar at times, Gendry didn’t mind taking orders from him. It also helped that Bran’s instructions didn’t sound like orders — or that the new King (unlike the previous one) had nothing to say about Gendry’s relationship with his youngest sister. 

 

“You wanted to see me, Your Grace?”

 

The solar was empty, save for Bran and Maester Tarly. The room was just like Jon’s had been, only symmetrical. This, Gendry had learned, would have been the Queen’s solar - had there been a Queen. Arya had told Gendry about Bran’s inability to have children and they’d discussed the very real possibility of one of Sansa’s children someday taking the throne. Their own plans to allow democracy at Storm’s End seemed fanciful but the world was changing quickly around them. Nearly everyone had moved back to King’s Landing and the island felt empty, marked only by a few Starks and their closest companions. 

 

Gendry thought of Storm’s End, of this place he’d never been and all of the ideas he’d thought up in his head about the place he’d be forced to call home. It would be home — eventually. Arya would be there, though not as his Lady. Her presence would be enough, that he was sure of. Gendry still struggled to accept that she was by his side and that she didn’t want to go elsewhere despite her many opportunities to leave. In fact it was her grip, her touch, her kiss that felt more urgent lately as if all of her was saying goodbye to this place and the solace it had afforded them, before they even picked a date to set sail for Storm’s End. 

 

“I did,” Bran cut in finally, still not looking to the blacksmith. 

 

Gendry advanced, feeling and smelling the sea breeze as it tickled his senses upon the open terrace. Even in the southern heat Bran remained covered up. It was as if he was unaffected by the sun, unmoved by the wind or anything in between. 

 

Bran extended a hand, urging Gendry to step closer. He obliged and was pleasantly surprised, almost amused, to find Bran smiling when the two finally locked eyes. 

 

“I’m sorry my brother stabbed you.”

 

Gendry struggled to stifle his laughter. “Yes, well...”

 

“Jon has been through a lot.”

 

“He has.”

 

“He told you about his parentage...” Bran’s voice trailed off as he watched Gendry’s eyes jump to Samwell. “He knows,” Bran explained flatly. “He knew before the rest of us.”

 

“You didn’t know?”

 

Bran turned back to the ocean. “I knew.”

 

“I—”

 

“You cannot tell anyone.”

 

“I...of course, Your Grace.”

 

“You don’t have to call me that if you don’t want. I don’t know if I wish to call you Lord Gendry.”

 

“Good,” Gendry chuckled. “I don’t like being called Lord Gendry.”

 

The slightest of smirks tugged at Bran’s mouth. “Were you angry at my sister for not telling you?”

 

“About—”

 

“Jon’s mother and father.”

 

“Oh...no. I respect Arya’s love for her family.”

 

“You love her.”

 

“I do. Very much so.”

 

Bran grinned as he looked back to Gendry. “It wasn’t a question. I know you do.”

 

“Oh...”

 

“When do you plan to depart?”

 

“Just as soon as the armada you requested is finished. We have almost all of the steel work completed. I had a few questions—”

 

“I trust you. Make the decisions as you see fit.”

 

“I don’t...are you sure?”

 

Bran didn’t respond. His vision jumped from the horizon down to the courtyard. “You’ll take one.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“A ship. One of the larger ones. There are two, if I remember the plans correctly. One of them will be yours. And Arya’s.”

 

“Whatever for?”

 

“Did you plan to take the long way and walk to Storm’s End?”

 

“No, Your Grace.”

 

“Name it as you see fit.”

 

“Thank you...”

 

“For a ship you helped to construct?” His gaze returned to the courtyard. “May we have a frank discussion?”

 

Gendry’s eyes snapped up. “Uh, sure...” 

 

“I’m no good with a sword so I won’t do as Jon did and cut out a chunk of your side.”

 

“Much obliged.”

 

“It is of a similar nature. Arya, of course.”

 

Gendry swallowed. “Of course.” 

 

He’d never understand the difference in the wolf pup of the north and the woman he now loved so fully. Whenever a Stark talked about Arya he barely recognized her. She was only an idea to them, existing solely in the abstract - untouchable. She was nothing like Arry - his best friend , the one person in the world he trusted like no other. But Gendry no longer mourned Arya’s disconnect with the family she worked so hard to get back to. It wasn’t as if she was detached from her old life, just that she’d made the conscious decision to head into her new one with a chin held high, face to the sun. 

 

“I know you won’t wed.”

 

“Is that a prediction?”

 

“No. It’d be a wrong one.” The statement had Gendry blinking as if to replay the moment. “I know she won’t wed you  _ currently _ . I know that when you arrive to the Stormlands she will be only an advisor to you.”

 

“I—”

 

“I know you will share a bed.” Gendry’s brow furrowed. Before he could defend himself or steer the conversation in another direction, Bran was continuing - still unaffected by his own awkward honesty. “I only mean to warn you that this will complicate things.”

 

“Us...sharing a bed, as you say?”

 

“Precisely. They will look at you differently...your people. They’ll certainly look at her differently.”

 

“I can’t convince her—”

 

“I know that. She was my sister at one point.”

 

“Was?”

 

Bran ignored him. “Arya can handle what they say about her. It’ll hurt her, of course, but she’ll pretend she is not offended. My suggestion would be to not push the issue. If she sees you’re unaffected as well she may come around to your idea of marriage.”

 

“I won’t force her into anything. She knows that.”

 

“I know she does. But things won’t be as they are forever. Let her deal with one change at a time. First the journey, then the castle...the talk of the people will follow. Marriage and children somewhere thereafter.”

 

“Children?”

 

“More than one, if I had to guess.”

 

“Are they guesses though?” Gendry chuckled but Bran was unmoving. He thought of apologizing but allowed the silence to consume him instead. 

 

“I won’t talk to her. I don’t need to tell her any of this. She knows better than I. I just know Jon had mentioned the issues your lack of a union would cause and considering the history you share I wanted to share my concerns. Hopefully in coming from me they’ll seem less unfounded.”

 

“Aside from the gossip...Arya will be fine, won’t she?”

 

“Arya will be fine.” It was a statement, not an answer. Gendry seemed to know this. He looked away, his mind caught up in a whirlwind of thoughts on Arya. She came to him at the most convenient of times - and the inconvenient times too. Thoughts of her were comforting in the way a clammy hand was to hold. It was contact all the same, somewhat unnecessary and sometimes overwhelming but the touch still meant everything in its mere existence. 

 

“When will you leave then?”

 

Gendry looked up. “We’re still deciding.”

 

“Your people need you. You should go soon.”

 

“And invite their gossip?”

 

Bran looked to Gendry once more. “Your people need you. You should go soon.”

 

~!~

 

“You’re too tall.”

 

Gendry looked up to Arya from his place among the sand. They’d laid out a wool blanket upon the cool beach, hidden away in Dragonstone’s most private cave. It was the same cave Arya used to ascend toward the cliffs dotted with wildflowers. That was a trip she’d been taking more frequently and had already made a point to visit before she headed back to the castle. Her obsession with her bitter moon tea was both a comfort and a wound to Gendry, usually depending on the day — sometimes depending on the hour. 

 

He was naked atop their makeshift bed, reaching for his clothing as Arya stepped into her own. He did not move to stand and instead admired the view of her as she tucked her tunic into her breeches. It was unfathomable to think that he’d ever been turned on by a frock. All men should insist that women wear pants, if only so they could constantly admire the curve of a woman’s backside. Every line of Arya’s silhouette had him hungry, even when she was fully clothed. The just-fucked rouge in her cheeks helped, of course, especially because it was only discernible to him. 

 

“Too tall?” He chuckled. “You’re too short.”

 

“I am,” Arya agreed quickly, still sounding annoyed. “I’d like to be fucked from behind without having to be perched on a rock like some cattle up for auction.”

 

Gendry stood now and walked to Arya. He was far less dressed than she was and she felt his arousal dig into her back when he wrapped his arms around her waist and dropped his lips to her neck. “We can’t have that...”

 

Arya rolled her shoulders in an attempt to push him away but it only invited Gendry closer, an inescapable smile on her lips as he breathed her in. 

 

“I was gentle.”

 

“I don’t care about you being gentle. I just wish...”

 

“You miss the featherbed?”

 

Arya turned to him, almost incensed. “I’m not as boring as all of that.” She didn’t push him away. Her hands remained flat to his chest, her eyes cast downward as if their frank discussion of their sex life somehow caused her embarrassment. 

 

“Boring? To have a soft mattress to lay M’lady upon? I’d hardly call that boring.”

 

“I just...”

 

“Arya? What is it?”

 

“Am I enough for you?”

 

Gendry didn’t even attempt to hold back his laughter. “What?”

 

“Me. Us. Am I enough?”

 

The repetition had Gendry leaning back, nearly pushing her away. “I don’t understand.”

 

“Jon said—“

 

This time he did push her away. “When will we stop listening to others?”

 

“I’m not—”

 

“You are! What did he say?” Arya looked away. “Goddammit Arya, what did he say?”

 

“I just think that you’ve had other women and—”

 

Gendry rubbed at his forehead. “For fucks sake, Arya...”

 

“I have nothing to compare you to. Maybe you’re shit in the sack. I don’t know.”

 

“Am I?”

 

Her attempt at humor faded to seriousness. “No.”

 

Gendry sighed. All at once Arya was back in his arms. He dropped his forehead to hers and inhaled, almost afraid to open his eyes for fear that she’d disappear. “Making love to you might be my favorite thing.”

 

“Better than smithing?”

 

“Without question. So if I—”

 

“It’s me,” she said strongly, shaking her head. “I’m—“

 

“Arya Stark, do you know how long I wanted you and thought you’d never be mine?”

 

Even in her sadness and embarrassment, Arya had to smile. “Tell me.”

 

Gendry laughed into her neck, causing them to shake as a single unit. “I ached,” he breathed, hot air coating her pulse point. “So to have you...”

 

Arya grabbed his cheeks, holding them in her palms and admiring the view of him, bare chested and honest, before her. “I love you. I just get scared sometimes.”

 

“What for? I think we’ve been through the worst of it, love.”

 

“The worst of it. But war was familiar. We met during the war. I had you for the first time during the war. Life without it? The fighting? I don’t know it so well.”

 

“Most people would be looking forward to it.”

 

“I am. I just start to wonder about things I didn’t have time for before.”

 

“Like if you know how to ring my bells?”

 

“I know how. I just wonder if I’m enough.”

 

“Enough?” The word sounded more ridiculous each time he spoke it. 

 

“It’s not funny.”

 

“It is. You are more than enough, Arya Stark. And I’ll take you again - up on the rocks or in your featherbed or in the sand if you need me to remind you.” She said nothing. Gendry swallowed and resisted the urge he had to push her away again. “What is it? Are you having doubts?”

 

Fear consumed her features, present most clearly in the wide eyes she wore. “No!”

 

“Alright then.” Gendry kissed the tip of her nose. “Did I not leave you satisfied?”

 

“Of course you did.”

 

“Arya...”

 

“You’re just too tall, alright?”

 

With strong arms Arya pushed him away, causing Gendry to nearly lose his footing as he stumbled back. He was still laughing as he watched her grab for the bouquet of wildflowers they had picked, carrying them out of the cave pointed toward the sun like a soldier entering battle. 

 

~!~

 

Sansa returned to Winterfell alone. Everyone saw her off, Gendry appearing with an arm wrapped around Arya feeling far more casual than the hug Tyrion and the Northern Queen shared. Neither dwelled on the truth too much. To think that Gendry was once afraid of being friends with Arya seemed ridiculous, even if he remembered those feelings of self-doubt well. He was too in love with her now for those things to matter. The very thing he feared was now his reality and in loving Arya he was able to ignore just how much all of this felt like a dream in a cruel way that taunted and teased. 

 

“Arya?” Her grey eyes drifted away from Gendry’s as she turned over her shoulder toward the voice. Jon was approaching, coming at them with a speed that would have told a stranger he had been separated from their party only moments earlier. Jon had been quite skilled at disappearing since his abdication but he was there when it mattered, most notably at Bran’s coronation and now to see Sansa back on the King’s Road.

 

“Jon,” Arya smiled, taking her brother in. 

 

“I understand you’re leaving soon.”

 

Arya looked to Gendry then back again. “Everyone keeps saying that. I’m starting to think we’re being kicked out.” From behind her, Gendry snickered.

 

“Congrats on the ship. I saw her just this morning. She’s beautiful. Have you thought of a name?”

 

There was silence, causing Gendry to look up and see both Starks staring at him, awaiting a response. “Uh, no. Nothing yet. I’m sure we’ll think of something.” 

 

“I’m sure. Listen, I...supper. I was thinking supper.”

 

Arya raised a brow. “In general? Or…”

 

“With me, Arya,” Jon’s voice darkened with impatience. “Supper with me.”

 

“Well sure—”

 

“Both of you.” 

 

“I…” Arya was too preoccupied with looking to Gendry for assistance to realize that her bull and the former King had shared a glance as well. 

 

“Tonight?” Gendry inquired. 

 

Arya’s head snapped in his direction again. “What?”

 

Jon nodded. “Tonight would be fine.” 

 

“I don’t—”

 

“We’ll be there.”

 

The hands Arya had limply at her sides turned to fists and Arya shook them like a child ready to throw a tantrum. “What?” She had fully turned to Gendry and when she went to look to Jon she saw nothing. He had gone already, disappeared from the carriage platform completely. “What just happened?” 

 

“We’re going to have supper with Jon,” Gendry explained with a shrug. 

 

~!~

 

They readied in Arya’s bedchambers, giving rise to suspicions both had regarding the room they’d share at Storm’s End. It had been like this for quite some time now, both envisioning the life they’d share in this place they’d never been. As Gendry sat at Arya’s vanity and shaved he watched Arya bathe herself, the wind coming in off the sea drying her skin just as soon as she’d run it over with a wet cloth. 

 

“Stop staring,” Arya instructed. She gave the direction to the mirror she stood before, her fingers dancing slow circles around the others as they managed her wavy tresses into a plait. Her hair was nearly down her back now and when she tied its gathered end off, her hands were well past the small of her waist.

 

“Can’t help it,” Gendry managed, careful not to cut himself. “You’re beautiful.”

 

“You’re blind,” Arya returned with just as much sincerity.

 

She went to him and took his face in her hands. His skin was clean and smooth, save for the bits of lather left behind between swipes of his sharp blade. Arya grabbed for the nearby cloth and rubbed at Gendry’s cheeks, ridding his freshly shaved skin of any imperfection. “Better,” she accessed, before tossing his face away and walking off toward the window where she’d left her afternoon moon tea to cool down. She sipped at the insufferable amber liquid while Gendry dressed, even offering him some in jest. The pair managed a heated set of open-mouthed kisses before deciding it was time to depart for Jon’s solar. 

 

A similar air followed them out of Arya’s bedchambers and up two more floors to the top of the Keep. The pair stopped every couple of steps to paw at the other, their fingers hungry and their mouths laughing as if they were already in Storm’s End. At the top of the steps, just breaths from Jon’s door, Arya stopped and turned back to Gendry.

 

“This feels like a trap.”

 

“What?” His lips were swollen and in seeing them Arya wondered if hers were too. 

 

“Something’s not...we should go—” She was cut off by Gendry placing a strong arm between her and the rest of the hallway. She had no other choice but to continue on her regular path, his hands to her sides as if he were guiding her toward a surprise. At the last minute she turned again, ready to push past him and leave. 

 

“Arya!” Gendry hushed. “What are you—”

 

“You know something. What do you know?”

 

“I don’t...I don’t know anything!”

 

“You do! And now you’re lying!”

 

“I don’t—”

 

The door opened and a servant boy came out, bringing with him two empty trays and a breeze only procurable by Jon’s large bedroom. Arya and Gendry stilled, catching their breath as Jon approached in the space created by the open door. 

 

“Arya?”

 

She looked back to Gendry before greeting her brother. She squared her shoulders and took a step forward. “You’re both full of shit,” she spat as she pushed past Jon to take a seat at the table. 

 

Gendry and Jon remained, staring at one another as they both searched for words to say. “I’ll…”

 

“Arya,” Gendry managed as he pushed past Jon too. “I think it best if you and Jon speak alone.”

 

“You think it…” She set her chalice down. “I knew it. You two are conspiring—”

 

“We’re not, actually,” Jon gritted. “Because I fully expected Lord Gendry to be present when—”

 

“Yeah, well  _ Lord Gendry  _ thinks this is a private conversation that needs to happen between a brother and a sister,” he gave back, just as strongly. 

 

“You promised!”

 

“I didn’t promise shit,” Gendry disregarded as he headed back from the door. “Make her cry and I’ll cut your bollocks off.”

 

Jon rolled his eyes. “I’ll be gone before you could manage it.” 

 

Arya didn’t hear his words. If she had, she would have followed Gendry out of the room. Instead she remained at the table, cutting into a piece of fish as if she were one of many guests just trying to pass the time. 

 

Finally, she leaned back. “Whatever you have to say—”

 

“Let’s just eat first.”

 

“You didn’t have to invite me under the pretense of dinner. If you have something to say to me you could have just requested a meeting.”

 

“There was no pretense. I invited both you and Gendry to dinner. I thought he’d be here...I thought we’d share dinner.”

 

“You’d tell him what you need to tell me?”

 

“He knows what I need to tell you.”

 

The truth had Arya’s throat dry, incapable of speech which was fruitless anyway, considering her current inability to process much thought. “Should I stand?”

 

Jon paused. “What? No...I...no.”

 

“You know you’re going to upset me. That’s why you wanted Gendry here.” Then she laughed, causing Jon’s bones to still as he caught his breath. “I thought you were going to force us to marry.” She giggled again, returning to her meal. 

 

“Arya, I…” His food was laid out before him, untouched and now cooled by the descending sun. He could only watch Arya eat, the act of sticking each bite of food with her fork before bringing it to her lips seemingly just as satisfying for him as it was for her. When his declaration finally came, her plate was nearly empty. “I’m going north of the Wall.”

 

Arya blinked. Her mouth went dry and when she attempted to swallow she choked on all the nothingness. “What?”

 

“I’m...I’m going north of the Wall.”

 

Arya shook her head. “Why would you do that?”

 

“Sansa asked the same thing and…” The words fell out of his mouth so casually. All the while Arya’s eyes turned dark and her lips curled into a sneer.

 

“No. You can’t.”

 

Jon chuckled. “I’m supposed to allow you to go to Storm’s End but you can’t—”

 

“I’m going with my best friend! The man I love! You’re...I thought you were kidding!”

 

“I’m not. I wasn’t. I’ve thought a lot about this and—”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Arya bellowed.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me about Gendry?” Jon returned quickly. When Arya’s shoulders only tensed, he reassessed. “I tried to. That day amongst the flowers…”

 

“You’re punishing yourself because you feel guilty for something you didn’t...you didn’t do anything wrong, Jon. You did what needed to be done. Why are you...sending yourself away affects the rest of us.”

 

“You’ll be in Storm’s End, Arya! Sansa will have the North! Bran will rule over all the remaining Kingdoms! What is left for me?”

 

“Us! We all need you. I need you! I don’t...no. You can’t go. I won’t allow it.” 

 

Jon scoffed. “It’s not your decision.”

 

“Don’t you care about my opinion?” 

 

“Do you care about mine?”

 

“Of course I do—”

 

“Then don’t marry Gendry.”

 

Arya laughed. “I already told you that I don’t intend to right away.”

 

“If you want me to respect your wishes, Arya, then you have to respect mine.” 

 

“I don’t believe these are your wishes, Jon! I think that even though I was the one who locked myself away for a month, you’re the one who hasn’t processed any of what happened to you!”

 

“I’m fine, Arya! That’s not what this is! That has nothing to do with—”

 

“Of course it does! What happened in King’s Landing will forever be a part of us, Jon! She made it that way. But it can’t define us! Gendry taught me that. He helped me see beyond all of it. There’s a life if you try to move past it.”

 

“Yeah, well, I don’t know if you can help me the way Gendry helped you.”

 

“Don’t be crass,” Arya scorned. “You could come to Storm’s End!”

 

“And what? Do  _ what _ ?”

 

“Who cares? Why does everyone need to have a title?”

 

“The Southerners don’t like me.”

 

“They probably won’t like me either!”

 

“They’ll love you. They already do. You’re...you’ve always been adored, Arya. You thought it was Sansa but you captivate people. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. It’s why you’ll be a wonderful Lady of Storm’s End and I’m meant to be with the Wildlings.”

 

Arya’s vision narrowed. “The Wildlings?” She gave a sharp inhale and almost cocked her head to the side in contemplation. “You loved her, didn’t you?”

 

Jon leaned back. “What?”

 

“The Wildling girl. You loved her.”

 

“I...it doesn’t matter. She’s dead.”

 

“Queen Daenerys is dead too.”

 

“I’ve been in love,” Jon stated simply. “Sure.” 

 

Arya shook her head, likely willing away the tears that now coated her eyes and threatened to coat her cheeks should she speak. 

 

She spoke anyway. 

 

“I told you I forgave you. I told you you needed to forgive yourself. What can I do to help you do that?” 

 

“It’s not...please let me go, Arya. That’s what you can do—”

 

“Why? Here I was afraid I’d lose you if I came clean about my relationship and little did I know you’d made that decision for me.”

 

“I can...I’ll visit...eventually. I can write in the meantime.”

 

“You’re a liar. You’ll disappear. You’ll go and you won’t return because it’s what you think you deserve.”

 

“Arya…”

 

“You really are a coward!” She brought herself to her feet, the entire room spinning around her as she pushed her chair back and headed for the door. 

 

“You said you wanted me to be accepting and supportive. That’s all I’m asking of you, Arya.”

 

She shook her head. “Gendry said you were upset because you were losing me. Like he was taking me away from you. I almost believed that but...why do you care what I do if you knew you were leaving all along?”

 

“I—”

 

“Piss off, Jon!”

 

“Arya!” 

 

She was to the door now, ready to flee. “Change your mind. I won’t be able to forgive you for this, Jon. I wanted our family back together and—”

 

“And you’re going to Storm’s End!”

 

“I’m remaining in the Seven Kingdoms! Where you can send ravens and we can meet at yearly council meetings and—”

 

“I’m not a Stark, Arya. If I stay people will learn about my parents...my real parents. It’ll cause wars and...I can’t. I won’t do that.”

 

“They won’t find out. They don’t have to. None of us will say anything.”

 

“But I’ll know and I’ll live with that fear. I’m done looking over my shoulder. I’m done with the fighting and the wars. The Wildlings...they take care of their own.” 

 

“So do the Starks,” Arya spat, her mouth tight. “And you’re a fucking liar.”

 

Jon chuckled. “I’m not. I’ve thought for a long time about this. This really is my best option.”

 

“And if I do get married? If I do have children? What then? I’m not to speak of you? I just act like you don’t exist?”

 

“When you get married and when you have children...I don’t know. I’ll figure all of that out someday, I hope. It sounds like I have time,” Jon attempted, his joke met with a single tear now cascading down Arya’s rosy cheek. Her nostrils flared and she looked like she was ready to collapse and yet Jon knew if he reached out for her, she’d run. She could do all of this on her own now. She didn’t need him. She hadn’t needed him for quite some time.

 

“When will you go?”

 

“I...I haven’t decided yet.”

 

“Me neither,” Arya whispered.

 

“I’ll say goodbye. I wasn’t going to but...I will now.”

 

“You weren’t going to…” Arya dropped her head back to laugh, even as the tears continued to pour. “You’re unbelievable.” 

 

“When would you have been open with me, Arya? Would you have said goodbye?”

 

“I would have had to!”

 

“When? How did you plan on telling me? How did you plan on telling anyone? I know you...you would have just left—”

 

“I would not!”

 

“Sounds like it!”

 

“I don’t know, alright? All I know is that I would have been honest eventually. And I was honest now. Now you know...about me and Gendry and everything else. I said I was sorry and I’ve told you of my plans and I’ve made it clear that I need you in my life. Your response is to...to leave?”

 

“You don’t need me, Arya.”

 

“I will always need you, Jon! I told you that. I can need Gendry and I can need you. They’re two very different types of love. My heart is plenty big enough for both of them.”

 

Jon stepped forward. Without warning he placed a hand to Arya’s cheek and when she felt the heat of his touch her eyes fluttered shut, only encouraging the tears that continued to fall - now at a rapid rate. “You’ll have babes someday and they’ll be room for them too. And those babes will have babes and gods willing, you’ll watch them all grow. Your heart is plenty big for all of that, Arya. And you’ll always be with me. I don’t do this to hurt you. I do it for me. I want...I want to be free.”

 

Arya stepped out of his embrace, her spine bumping into the door she was attempting to retreat out of. “Go then. Be free.”

 

Jon’s hands fell in her absence, the rest of him admitting to defeat once she was out the door and into the hallway. He slammed the door behind her, but Arya was too far away now, submitting to the ache and pain and emptiness that came with agreeing to someone else’s happiness, even when it meant disregarding your own. Perhaps that was life's greatest tragedy: that those thoughts and emotions could be simultaneous - that such a thing was even possible. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I *think* there are two more chapters of this - one being the epilogue. So bittersweet!


	16. The Rebellion

All at once it was bad again. It was as if Arya had just barely escaped a burning city only the blood and ash that once coated her cheeks was replaced entirely by tears - a similar mask to the one she wore in all the weeks that followed when she refused to open her door. She was alone then and that had been a choice but now as she slowly trudged out of Jon’s solar, taking each step like punishment, Arya collapsed into willing arms. This was a choice too, both Gendry being here and her allowing him to stay. She needed him and she was unsure of how she’d ever managed much else in her life without him by her side. 

 

There was stone beneath Arya’s feet but the rest of her was so warm. Each time a sob wracked her body she felt her skin pull and press into Gendry’s. He was unyielding, just a presence for her to unload upon. He carried her weight so easily, as if the way his hands curled around her hip and neck were a promise that he’d remain forever, if that was what it took to get her to stop crying. 

 

“Shhhh,” Gendry soothed, or attempted to. 

 

If he had been any other man, perhaps one she was instructed to marry (one she’d never fully love) he would have been raised to care about the possibility of servants and advisors walking by and witnessing a princess in distress. Nobles didn’t have emotions. The last time a woman of power had shared her feelings half a city had died and she had died with it. Vulnerability was the one thing the rich could not afford. 

 

“Arya, love...”

 

She sniffled but kept her head buried in the crook of his neck. Her fingertips dug into his skin, clutching for proof of him as if the way her lungs were calming down was not enough to convince her. 

 

Arya wanted more. 

 

“Let’s go,” she murmured now with palms pressed flat to his cheeks. Her skin was pink too and when she talked Gendry saw more evidence of her crying. Her nose had begun to run and every tear she was holding back was stuck in her throat, coating her teeth and tongue as she tried to speak. 

 

“To bed?”

 

“To Storm’s End. Let’s leave now. I’ve nothing left here. I—”

 

“Arya Stark does not run away.”

 

She dropped her forehead to his. “Maybe Arya Baratheon does,” she offered. 

 

Gendry’s eyes fluttered shut at the sound but his senses mollified what his heart could not. Without warning he moved to stand, bringing all of Arya with him. In an instant she was in his arms and he was carrying her down the steps away from Jon’s solar. He didn’t bother correcting her. He didn’t bother telling her how unfair her declaration had been, even if it had such a lovely melody falling from her lips. His silence was enough. 

 

At her door, Gendry pushed inside with the nudge of his shoulder. Arya was so still in his arms he almost thought she had fallen asleep but when he looked down he saw her eyes blink open. She nodded, as if to understand, and he let her down. Somehow the action had the tears returning and Gendry wrapped an arm around her to help her toward the bed. Arya allowed all her weight to push her down and when she reached forward to remove her shoes he stopped her. Through her tears Arya watched Gendry kneel before her. He started with her boots. Her socks came next. Then he gently pulled her tunic from her breeches and untied the laces at her hips. Arya wiggled upon their featherbed, helping him remove the article even though she could barely see. 

 

“Stand,” he urged, his voice stern and unapologetic. 

 

She did. Her frame fell into the space between him and the bed, forcing her to nearly brush her nose along his sternum. It took everything in Arya not to wrap her hands around his waist and surrender to her sadness again. She didn’t know why she was even still crying. She barely thought of Jon now, only of the life she was officially leaving behind, almost as if saying goodbye to him was the very same thing. 

 

Arya bent to Gendry’s will, her hips rolling and her arms raised above her head as he dragged her tunic upward.  The braid she wore fell back down upon her spine, a crown amongst her nakedness, her sorrow like a cape for her to hide behind. 

 

Gendry vanished for only a breath. When he returned, he brought with him a freshly laundered night shift. It smelled of lavender, a scent which wafted through the air around them even as he unfolded the garment and drowned her in it. Arya didn’t allow his touch to leave her skin even when she was clothed. Her fingertips dragged along his forearm, over his shoulder and up to his chin. She held his gaze softly but with intense eyes. 

 

“You’ll stay with me, won’t you?”

 

Gendry nodded. With a hand to the back of her neck he brought her face toward him and before his lips even made contact with her forehead Arya had her eyes shut, waiting for the reprieve his lips granted. She left him then, trudging back toward the bed and getting inside where she held her legs close to her chest and rested her chin upon her knees as she watched Gendry disrobe. 

 

When it was time for him to join her, Arya moved to blow out the candles surrounding their bed. She needed the darkness more than he did, and it was welcomed now with him offering to envelope her once more. Arya nuzzled into the crook of his arm. She was still so warm but it was a different heat now. This was safety and comfort. What had once felt unfamiliar and uncomfortable now felt like home. If she closed her eyes she wondered if she could picture it: their bed at Storm’s End and how it’d keep her just as calm knowing that Gendry would spend most of his nights asleep at her side. 

 

A silence settled around them. Arya’s chest failed to heave and the way she had gripped his rib cage diminished to soft circles upon his chest. If it weren’t for the delicate way she moved her fingernail upon him, Gendry would have assumed she was fast asleep. If it weren’t for the way she shifted her leg over his to keep him close, he would have joined her. 

 

“You knew.”

 

Gendry looked down to her but saw only the crown of her head. He leaned back but already Arya was speaking again. 

 

“You knew. About Jon leaving.”

 

“I...” He closed his mouth. “He told me. He told me the way everyone tells me things. Only when they need something from me.”

 

Arya narrowed her eyes and looked up to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“Because he wanted me to help but I didn’t agree. There was nothing I could do, Arya. You needed to hear it from him.”

 

“What did he want you to do?”

 

“Be present, apparently. Sit with you while he told you.”

 

“Warm my bed after?”

 

Her humor was a comfort and Gendry smiled in appreciation. “He’s lost. I think he’s given up on stopping this.”

 

Arya leaned up to press a kiss to Gendry’s pulse point. “I can’t believe...”

 

Gendry waited. No sound followed, not even another tear, so he tried instead. “Are you angry with me?”

 

“No.” Then: “No,” she said, with more conviction. She pressed a hand to his cheek and breathed him in. “You didn’t break my heart. He did.”

 

Gendry sighed. “I wish I had the answers, Arya. Jon...”

 

“He’s been through a lot. I know.”

 

“Maybe it’s not forever, you know?”

 

She looked up to him again, the smirk she wore telling. “It’s just right now?” she inquired innocently, clearly poking fun at her own promises. 

 

In response Gendry pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “He’ll always be welcome at Storm’s End.”

 

“I told him that. Though...” Arya inhaled for strength. “We need to start thinking about us.”

 

“Us?”

 

“What benefits us. And only us.”

 

“And the smallfolk? We said—”

 

“Yes, and the small folk. But us. Because those are our people, so if we are thriving, so are they.”

 

Gendry looked up to the ceiling. “Right.”

 

“The game’s never over. You’ve agreed to take the Stormlands. We make our own rules. Because if we don’t, someone else will.”

 

Gendry grinned. “Spoken like a lady.”

 

“A warden,” Arya corrected. Though, the smile she wore told him she didn’t mind the former title. 

 

Finally, she sighed. “You’re my family, Gendry. Not because I have no other family. I do. I always have. I always will. Those who have left me...willingly or otherwise. But you’re my family. My forever family. We’re going to be alright, I think.”

 

“You think?”

 

Arya shook her head. Then, she kissed his lips: passionately, slowly, urgently. “We’re going to be alright.”

 

~!~

 

The following morning saw Arya fighting the sunshine to stay in bed and for once Gendry remained beside her. He did not greet the morning with the immediate intention of heading out to the forge. Instead he only focused on the still-sleeping woman in his arms and how peaceful she looked still clutching on to him as if the previous night was one that would never truly end. 

 

When Gendry finally stirred it was only because Arya had moved first. He saw the curve of her spine bending over the side of the bed, picking up the linen shift he’d helped her discard in the middle of the night. Standing up she smiled when she saw him staring, eyeing her as she usually eyed him, drinking in the muscles on his back and legs and everywhere in between. 

 

With his head still pressed firmly to his pillow, Gendry made a face before turning over then he too moved to stand. He stretched, groaned, and when he opened his eyes Arya was already in her tunic standing before him. She pressed a hand to his chest and stood up on her toes as if to ask for a kiss. Gendry was already meeting here there, one hand cupping her neck so he could angle her mouth right where he wanted it. It was Arya’s moan that sent a jolt toward Gendry’s groin, the same sound encouraging him to cup her ass as he then did, keeping her close. She only responded with a grin, one that broke them out of their kiss, before pushing him away.

 

“You’re almost done, aren’t you?”

 

Gendry had fallen back atop the featherbed, his back hunched as he rubbed at his face. It seemed he too was having difficulty leaving the prior night behind. “Huh?”

 

“What else has Bran asked you to do? What other obligations do you have?”

 

“M’done, mostly. Just a few things. Little things. Why?”

 

“I want to leave before Jon does.”

 

Gendry straightened his spine. “You’ll say goodbye, won’t you?”

 

“We’ll say goodbye, sure.”

 

He stood once more. “What do you have planned, Arry?”

 

Arya giggled. “Nothing. Yet,” she added, in a much lower tone. “I’m just done with this place. It’s time to leave. I’m ready.”

 

She quickly changed and made it out the door before Gendry had even finished washing up. The woman he watched go would have laughed at the girl she was yesterday.

 

~!~

 

It was nearly supper when Arya found Gendry again. She’d made her way through the castle, saying goodbye to those who had been particularly helpful during her time at Dragonstone. Each farewell felt more comfortable than the last until finally Arya was enjoying them, littering goodbyes around the Keep and the bailey as carelessly as flower petals on a windy day.

 

Seeing Gendry, Arya was reminded of their brief time at Winterfell, then of their adolescent years prior. She’d seen Gendry stand before a forge so many times and she never tired of it. Sure, his body was something to gawk at and she did so unapologetically, but she also adored the way he excelled at his craft and how, despite what he’d say, he really loved it too. It was for this reason that she was content with leaning against one of the smithy’s beams, her head pressed to the softened wood as she admired him working. 

 

When Gendry turned to see her he chuckled and shook his head. He was never one for an audience and things had felt almost too surreal lately. Dragonstone was nearly deserted and the pair was allotted times like these where in the in-between, before they arrived to Storm’s End, they could remember what it was like to be children again: to be silly and loud and carefree. Gendry was ready to leave too, but he’d miss this. He wondered if Arya knew how much he owed to this island, how it was this place that healed them. Gendry didn’t bother bringing it up. Arya would tell him he was wrong. Their healing could have happened anywhere. The single requirement still seemed to be that they were together — a single unit, a pair. 

 

“Wha’s that face?” Gendry asked as he used the bottom of his tunic to wipe at his face.

 

With her arms crossed over her chest, Arya sauntered toward him. “I have something to show you.”

 

“I’m working.”

 

Arya rolled her eyes. “I see that. When will you be done?”

 

Gendry took a step back, his hammer falling to his side. “An hour?”

 

“Well—”

 

“Where are we going? I’d like a wash—”

 

“Our ship’s complete, you know.”

 

Gendry snickered. “I built part of it so yeah, I’m aware.” 

 

Arya tossed her hands down to her sides in protest. “Will you just humor me please?” 

 

It was well over an hour later when Gendry finally left the forge to be with Arya. She even dragged him away from his washing up, her impatience tangible as she gripped his hand and pulled him off toward the stairs leading down to the harbor. An angry sea greeted them as the staircase crested and without the ramparts surrounding them the wind picked up and began to push and tug their hair and clothing this way and that. When they finally made it down to the sandy shore, Arya’s hair was nearly out of its plait and their skin was painted pink as the weather continued its riot. 

 

Above them, clouds moved until faint water droplets began to fall down, coating their starched tunics in uneven dots. Before the wind could dry them, there were more until finally it didn’t matter anymore. Arya was bringing Gendry into the ocean toward their ship, forgoing the recommended rowboat that remained beached on shore. There was no question or hesitation. When Arya ran into the ocean Gendry followed until both were swimming, breathless and laughing as they reached the ship’s hull. 

 

Arya swam on her back as if in invitation, then when Gendry was nearly to her, she dove beneath the water and surfaced only when she was at the base of the ship’s rope ladder. Arya pulled herself up onto the bottom rung, causing the entire length of rope to go taut against the side of the ship. As she reached up, ready to begin her climb, she felt the ladder slip out from beneath her. Arya felt the ocean surround her before she realized she had become submerged in it again. When she came up for air she saw Gendry was already halfway up the ladder, a few steps away from mounting the ship. He waited, laughing, but with a hand extended as if offering her assistance — as if he wasn’t the one to toss her back into the sea. 

 

Arya spit out the saltwater she had inhaled and made it quickly up the ladder toward him. At the top she contemplated throwing him back overboard but was distracted by a loud clap of thunder overhead. As if on cue, Gendry picked her up and brought her toward the ship’s cabin. Even as he set Arya down, he found himself crouching beneath the wooden awning, their bodies barely fitting in the dry space afforded to them.

 

“This,” he emphasized, “is why I hate ships. I’m too bloody big—”

 

Arya had thrown her arms around Gendry’s neck and without warning or apology or thought she kissed him with everything she had. His eyes snapped shut, shock and warmth pumping through his veins as he instinctively shifted to hold her just as she clutched at him. She was laughing, carefree and stupid, causing their teeth to knock. The mixture of rain and immature antics had both breathless, eventually holding on to one another to keep from slipping upon the deck, even when their lips were too swollen to meet.

 

“What...did...you...want to show me?” Gendry sputtered.

 

He heard a click then Arya separated from him, an action allowed by the space she created in opening the door they apparently had been nestled against. She stepped down and Gendry followed, nearly tripping as he underestimated the distance. 

 

“This is ours, y’know,” she said simply and with wide eyes that looked around the room then back to Gendry, almost terrified of his reaction. 

 

Gendry shut the door. The rain, now flying sideways, and the relentless wind were cast out, leaving them in a barely lit captain’s cabin. The woodwork was lighter here and everything looked and smelled as if it had been freshly upholstered. Grey curtains with gold tassels hung from the large window flanking the ship’s stern. Books and maps scattered upon shelves and beside them an entire chest open to reveal select weapons inside. 

 

“What is…” Gendry’s voice caught in his throat at the sight of Arya, nearly naked and with hair that stuck to her face and neck, walking toward him. He swallowed, incapable of adoring her with his eyes as he’d done so many times before. If possible, her skin seemed more milky in complexion without the help of a glow from sunbeam or flame.

 

Arya untied the ribbon keeping her hair in a plait and disregarding it quickly, clearly not caring where it landed. She raked her fingers through her hair, unwinding each tress, dismissing each wave and all of the ocean water that accompanied them. She placed her hands to Gendry’s shoulders, her fingertips delicate and her hands willowy as she gripped at him. He still wore his own shirt but she allowed her touch to dip beneath the collar, separating it so she could explore underneath. Arya pressed the most tender of kisses to his chin, then his cheek, before ultimately claiming his lips. 

 

“I love you,” she whispered, as they pulled away. The most gorgeous and serene of grins spread across her face. “Did you know?”

 

Gendry nodded, awestruck, and nipped at her mouth again. “Yeah,” he chuckled. “Was hoping…”

 

The rain and ocean weighed them down, making Arya’s pathway toward Gendry’s trousers a rather treacherous one. She was finding it difficult to grip his tunic as she usually did and he was so distracted by her cool skin he was little help in her pursuit. Eventually though, she did untie his breeches and with them loosened she was able to tug his tunic upward and out. The sudden give had Arya nearly punching Gendry in the face but they laughed just as they always did, somehow finding one another through mouth or touch, a task that was all the easier the more skin was exposed.

 

Impatiently, Gendry assisted Arya in removing his shirt. It fell to the floorboards below with a rather loud smack, one that was drowned out by the growl Gendry gave in picking Arya up, his lips assaulting her neck while she too tried to remove her own shirt. It was like this sometimes, both spinning headfirst toward the same objective they often forgot the steps required to get there. The very same thing they wanted — each other — was somehow hindering their progress. 

 

It would have been much easier to separate and disrobe before ultimately continuing their rendezvous but neither saw that as an option. They preferred the messy, clumsy way their hands pawed at cold, sticky skin, sometimes seeking leverage, other times just needing the contact. The afternoon storm was the perfect soundtrack as the two stumbled backward, knocking into the neatly placed table and chairs, their hips and shins undoubtedly bruised by their carelessness. The nakedness that eventually followed almost invited more marking, some deliberate, some not. Each time Gendry’s wild kisses had Arya feeling delirious, she’d bite at his lips or nip at the tender skin of his neck. When his mouth would open, the rest of him nearly keening, Arya would insist on his lips back upon hers, her tongue pressed past them to dance with his own. If she hadn’t felt the way his hardened cock continued to poke and dig into her belly, Arya would have allowed him to kiss her like that forever. 

 

“Where do you want me?” Arya managed. She fought the urge to jump up in his arms again and sink down on his cock. Both were clearly attempting to establish a rhythm that would prolong all of this, their bodies drawn to one another as if for the first time, as if the things they’d worked for in life hadn’t afforded them a lifetime of afternoons like this one.

 

“Don’t care,” Gendry shook his head and seized her lips once more. “Don’t want you feeling like cattle,” he teased, biting at her mouth. 

 

She growled, then laughed, nearly calling out as his hand ghosted down past her belly, toward the apex of her thighs. In granting him entrance she was even shorter, her eyes heavy as the rest of her stilled, watching him, waiting for reprieve. She didn’t need to nod, a good thing considering she was barely capable of much thought or action when Gendry held her in this way. He ran one finger then three back and forth, back and forth, his knuckles only barely grazing the nub hidden just beneath her soft curls.

 

“What do you want?” he husked, breathing her in. Two fingers slipped inside of her and Arya found herself speechless, her legs like jelly.

 

“You…”

 

“How? Tell me…” He pumped his fingers in, then out, before dragging that same touch up her folds and back again. He was ready to pull away but he stopped, causing Arya’s breath to hitch. “Tell me…” The warning had a newfound heat surging to Arya’s center, one that pulsed and swelled as she watched Gendry take his fingers in his mouth and lick her taste off.

 

“Fuck, Gendry…”

 

He smiled and kissed her lips. Arya smiled too. She thought she was quick enough but as she reached out to return the favor, Gendry stopped her, shaking his head. “Later.”

 

“You’re not being fair.”

 

“I’m being plenty fair,” he laughed off. “Tell me what you want, Arya.”

 

“You. I told you I just want y—” 

 

Arya tasted Gendry, deft and forceful, all of him pressed into all of her. At once the pair was stumbling back again, their destination still unknown. Arya allowed it. She even encouraged it when she felt him grip her thighs and shift to pull her body up into his arms. But she stopped him, reminding herself not to wrap her legs around his waist in the way they both liked. One leg remained locked around his bare ass while the other pointed toward the floor, all of her pliable and there for his taking. Meanwhile, all Gendry wanted was everything Arya wanted.

 

Arya tried to reach for him again, to feel the velvety soft skin of his cock in her palms, but he took her wrists in his hands and slammed them back against the wall. Arya winced as she felt something else dig into her back and looking down she saw he had shuffled them into a short armoire. Gendry must have noticed too because he wrapped his arm around her back in an attempt to lift her up onto the dresser. It was also an apology, a silent one added to the pile with all the others: the hot kisses he pressed to her breasts and the promise of his tongue on her center if she’d only be patient. 

 

In clear frustration, Arya tossed Gendry’s hands away and turned around so her hands were gripping the top of the armoire. There was a pause, one that lasted far longer than she would have liked before Arya felt Gendry’s hardened length at her back. Finally, she was allowed to touch him, guiding his cock toward her waiting cunt until she could finally feel him, slick with precum, at her back. 

 

“Gendry Waters, if you don’t….” 

 

She cried out when he pushed inside, her body rocking with the waves and consuming him further. Gendry groaned, his thumb pressed to the base of her spine to keep her in place. The smile both wore was instant and when Arya sank back fully she was thankful for the strong hand Gendry had pressed to her tummy. His height had her body nearly off the ground  and as he began to thrust, she found herself incapable of nothing other than breathing. The dresser they moved against gave little reprieve, its empty drawers knocking with each meeting of their hips, skin dragging deliciously as both worked the other in search of a shared orgasm. 

 

“Fuhhhh,” Arya moaned.

 

 In response, Gendry let his palm slide down to apply pressure to her clit. She cried out again, his cockhead simultaneously hitting a pressure point they’d only ever been able to find at this angle. Once again her hair was matted to her skin, covering her back and forehead like string as Gendry pistoned in and out of her. He’d place a kiss to her pulsepoint or suck on her earlobe, slowing down his rhythm when he felt it was what they both needed. Then Arya would reach behind her and shift the grip she had on Gendry’s neck, keeping him close. They attempted a kiss then several more, but it ended with Arya grappling at the dresser, her body bent over and away from his while he kept a strong hand to her back, his eyes only capable of seeing the exact place where their bodies met.

 

“I...want...can’t…” She was winded and finding speech difficult the harder Gendry pounded into her. 

 

He stopped though, growing concerned when he didn’t hear a laugh follow her dwindling sentiment. “Arya?”

 

Her chest heaved, new oxygen filling her lungs like courage. “Bed. I want to see you.”

 

Gendry must have agreed because instantly she was in his arms, the two momentarily detached but just as blissful as he laid a smattering of kisses to her cheeks and chest. Arya flailed in his arms, the moment lost to play until she was finally deposited atop the bed again, her body bouncing with the ocean as Gendry covered her with his frame.

 

She giggled until he demanded her lips back, their mouths meeting just as he found himself sheathed inside her once again. Looking down to her, Gendry smoothed Arya’s hair back, enjoying the grin she wore as their hips met, their lips just barely touching each time he filled her fully. 

 

“You could have just said you wanted the bed,” Gendry chuckled into her skin between bated breaths.

 

“Didn’t want the bed. Just wanted you,” Arya returned in kind. Her eyes snapped shut as she felt a particular humming in her belly, one that caused her toes to curl. “Right there...fuhhhh,” she groaned, her fingernails like needles upon Gendry’s back.

 

Arya knew Gendry was close because he was quiet, his brow furrowed in concentration, even as they kissed. Gendry left her with a peck to her forehead, both hands cupping her face and his eyes demanding her attention when he finally let go, the coil in his own stomach snapping, sending light and heat to his extremities and beyond. 

 

Arya keened, her hips rising from the bed as she felt Gendry spill inside of her. She cried out, repositioning her arms around his neck for purchase as her legs gave out and he nearly collapsed atop her. Only then did she hear him let out a laugh, one that she couldn’t help but to follow. It was disbelief and relief, then wonderment and gratitude. Gendry rolled off of her, the action causing him to almost fall off the bed. Their lovemaking had their bodies at an unfortunate angle upon the featherbed and the motion of the sea did little to correct things.

 

“Fuck, Arya…” Gendry let out. He touched the back of his hand to his forehead, feeling the sweat there and with the other hand he reached down to lay a light slap to her stomach. She was on fire too, and the action elicited a giggle, one that had Arya turning over onto her belly to show him her bare ass. 

 

“I think that’s what you were looking for,” she wiggled, before pushing up off the bed to stand. 

 

Gendry’s abdomen burned from exertion, their coupling producing the same outcome as their many nights in Harrenhal when after everyone else had retired their exhaustion found both of them in a fit of perpetual laughter. 

 

He leaned forward anyway, resting back on his elbows as he watched Arya move from the bed back toward the window. She bent over, just as she had that morning, only when she stood back up she carried with her his own discarded shirt. She took the still damp tunic and wiped it between her legs, having to drag the linen from the inside of her knee upward. 

 

“Hope you didn’t need that,” she sassed.

 

“My seed or the shirt?”

 

Arya made a face and tossed the tunic back toward him. Gendry extended his hands like a shield, ultimately pushing it away before it could land. He repositioned himself atop the bed, moving so his back was upon the many feather pillows, reaching for the white silk sheets.

 

“We should grab some furs before we leave,” he commented, his eyes donated to the mattress. “I know you think it’s hot as shit in the South but it can be cold out to sea.”

 

A still naked Arya was almost back to the bed but she quickly turned on her heel. “Oh! That’s why I brought you here!”

 

Gendry blinked. “Which part?”

 

Arya disappeared into the alcove just beyond the armoire. When she reappeared she was completely covered in a blanket of gold and grey, stitching and tassels covering the trim of what Gendry soon realized was a coverlet for a bed much bigger than the one he laid upon.

 

“I had this made for you,” she said sweetly, all of her still drowning in the material. As she drew closer, Gendry saw it more clearly: direwolves and stags appeared atop the velvet in soft cashmere thread woven together to display the Stark and Baratheon house crests. “Don’t worry,” Arya said. “There’s a bull on the back,” she teased as she leaned down to pick up the hem and show him. The closer she became the more intricate Gendry realized it had been until finally Arya was just before him, presented like a gift ready for unwrapping. 

 

“C’mere,” he gruffed, as he took her in his arms and hoisted her up so she was beside him in bed. The duvet still pooled around her like a cape, exposing her shoulders and the tops of her breasts as she made an attempt to cover Gendry with the fabric too. She kissed him and the pair smiled, temporarily lost in a short-lived bliss as a flash of lightning illuminated the cabin around them.

 

“It’s actually for our bed in the castle…” The words were like molasses falling from Arya’s lips. She felt like a child lost in her own imagination. 

 

“ _Our_ bed? In _our_ castle?” he teased with a kiss to her clavicle. “I think it’ll do on the journey over.”

 

Arya beamed. “You like it then?”

 

“I do. It’s...expensive.”

 

“Oh yeah, put the Stormlands in debt with this one, I did,” Arya jested, causing a yelp when Gendry pinched her side. “I don’t think it’s the price that’ll cause issue. People will talk now, I’m sure.”

 

Gendry quirked a brow. “Talk?”

 

“I couldn’t exactly make it myself. You know I’m shit with sewing. So I had to put in a few requests...had it sent to a needleworker in Winterfell, then a needleworker in King’s Landing. This blanket has seen a lot of Westeros.” Arya looked up to him, her eyes like glass - calm and patient and waiting. “It had to be perfect.”

 

Gendry dropped his lips down to her forehead and left a kiss there. “All we need is for one person to hear of a Stark-Baratheon union…”

 

He then pulled Arya closer, and with her came the rest of the coverlet. She draped it over Gendry, both of them atop the silk bed sheets, naked but cloaked proudly in Arya’s present. It was the first gift of many that she’d give Gendry, somehow this one being a prerequisite for all the others: _four_ , a seer in Braavos had once told her. 

 

“I think I have a name.”

 

Arya looked up to Gendry, unaware that she had even become lost in her own thoughts. “A what?”

 

“A name,” he reiterated. “For the ship. Our ship, as you say.”

 

Arya snuggled into him, joining him in his view of the moving lanterns above as the ship below them rocked with the waves. “Let’s hear it.” 

 

“The Rebellion,” Gendry stated simply. Arya giggled but he stopped her, twisting her nipple until the pain had her pushing his hand away. “Don’t laugh!”

 

“You mean like…” Laughter still coated her tongue. “Your father had his rebellion, so what? This is your rebellion?”

 

“No. It’s not.” Gendry’s words were a declaration. “It’s our rebellion.”

 

Arya laid her head back upon his chest. “I don’t know if we want to be reminding everyone of what happened the last time a Baratheon fell in love with a Stark.”

 

“It’s a different world now. I’m a bastard and I’m about to be lord.”

 

“You’re not a bastard,” Arya admonished with a sigh. 

 

“I’m a _bastard_ , Arya, and I’m about to be a lord. _That’s_ a rebellion.”

 

Arya breathed and looked up to the ceiling. “I’ll not marry you yet but I’ll spend my nights by your side.” 

 

Gendry shrugged, agreeing. “Another rebellion.” 

 

“This time though, the Stark girl loves the Baratheon boy back.” Arya smirked, her satisfaction akin to the relief of an exhale after holding your breath for far too long. "The ultimate rebellion." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is, friends. The final chapter of Exhale.
> 
> I originally had an epilogue planned but writing this I don't know if I feel it's necessary. Sometimes stories make decisions for you and you kind of just have to listen. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read this story and especially to those of you who reviewed, whether it was once or consistently. You are all such spectacular humans and I am not worthy of the time and attention you gave my little story. I adore you all. THANK YOU! ♡


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